Immolation
by Flarn
Summary: Inferno sacrifices himself to save Red Alert by enduring a horrific rape. Can their relationship endure the terrible aftermath? Can Inferno himself? Based on prompts from the slash 100 LJ comm. Non-con, violence, angst, intimacy, love, survival. Darkfic.
1. Immolation

**Title:** Immolation (Part 1/100)  
**Prompt: **(Writer's choice) "Immolation"  
**Verse:** G1 (AU-ish)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 898  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, Megatron/Red Alert, Megatron/Inferno, possible ?/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** Unidentified Decepticon underlings.  
**Warnings:** Sticky, discussions of rape/impending rape  
**Summary:** Inferno strikes a dark bargain with Megatron to save Red Alert from rape and possibly win their freedom.  
**Notes:** This fic is based on a bunny I offered to the redxinferno livejournal community suggesting that since Red Alert is typically always the victim in fics, what if it were Inferno for a change? Incidentally, I would love to see more people try this bunny out. Consider it a challenge. :)

The gimmick is that I will be creating the story based entirely (or as much as possible) on prompts from the slash_100 livejournal community. Due to the nature of those prompts some segments will be longer than others.

The story will be very dark but segments will have individual ratings. I'm going to try to find some humour in there, too, though it will be challenging.

Credit for my inspiration for this fic goes to the Stockholm series of fics by **kookaburra1701**.There's a point in Red Alert's story where Inferno tries to offer himself to save Red Alert from rape, and ever since I read it I wondered what would happen if Inferno's offer had been accepted. 

Immolation

**im·mo·la·tion**

–noun

1. an act or instance of immolating.

2. the state of being immolated.

3. a sacrifice, especially by fire.

"I have a bargain for ya, 'Mighty' Megatron," Inferno offered with a sneer, somehow managing to still look as imposing as ever despite being chained to the wall.

Hearing his partner's confident drawl, Red Alert sagged, knees weakening with relief, as he hung in between the two Decepticons currently engaged in removing him from the cell they shared. His destination had been the Decepticon leader's quarters, where the gun-moded overlord had intended to indulge himself with the security director in the most abhorrent way possible. But now, surely, that was off the table – Inferno might not have been as educated as Red himself was, but he could still come up with a good plan, or, failing that, just break free from his chains and slag every Decepticon he could get his hands on.

Megatron paused in the act of leaving, merely turning his head to offer what was doubtless intended to be a parting shot. "You are hardly in a position to bargain, Autobot."

"Take me instead." It was a joke, it had to be a joke - but the offer, spoken in Inferno's distinctively accented tones, was calm, collected, and deadly serious.

The white and red security director stared, disbelief literally freezing his vocalizer.

Megatron turned around and looked at Inferno, insolently allowing his gaze to sweep meaningfully over the firetruck, then he laughed, a mocking sound rich with smug, dark intent. "As if your bulky, cumbersome frame could ever offer me the delights of this slender, elegant little morsel..." he indicated Red Alert. "I had hoped he was untouched, but seeing as you are attempting to offer your pathetic Autobot virtue in exchange for his I can only assume you've taken his seals. A pity, but I can still _take_ my pleasure, and he will still scream for me..."

Sending frantic reboot commands to his vocal processor, Red Alert bristled, indignation at the insult to Inferno making him momentarily forget his own predicament. Inferno might have been large and heavy, but despite his size he was graceful, and careful, not to mention that he exuded an aura of strength, tempered by gentleness, that the security director thought was positively magnetic.

Despite his disparaging words, the Decepticon leader hadn't left yet, but stood watching Inferno inscrutably for long moments. "Unless you wanted to... sweeten the deal?" he finally said.

"I.. I'll interface with ya willin'ly," Inferno began. "Well, as willin'ly as I can," the large red mech amended, after disbelieving snort from Megatron. He gritted his dental plates for a moment, as if steeling himself, and then went on. "An'... If I can get through a session on the berth with ya - from the time we start until ya overload - without breakin' down, ya will let us go."

Megatron's optics flared with undisguised pleasure, and his face broke into a sinister smile. The slagmaker was known as a master of psychological warfare, and it seemed that sometimes he enjoyed playing the game one on one. "And if you don't..."

Inferno stammered, clearly having run out of ideas, "Well, I, uhhh..."

"If you don't, you will service the _entire_ Decepticon army currently stationed at this base," Megatron decided, a diabolical grin on his lip components that boded very, very ill indeed. "And afterwards, if I am feeling merciful, if you have _entertained_ us sufficiently, perhaps, just perhaps, I will still let you both go."

"Inferno, don't!" Finally Red's vocalizer agreed to the reboot commands he had been desperately sending. His tanks were churning with terror and revulsion, his spark was climbing its way into his throat, this could not be happening!

Inferno's optics flickered once, fearfully, and then grew hard, harder than Red Alert had ever seen them. The red mech set his jaw. "Tell me Red Alert won't be harmed and ya've got yerself a deal."

"Done!" Megatron snapped his fingers to his underlings. "Put the small one back – he is not to be touched by anyone. Bring this one instead."

Red Alert struggled fruitlessly in his chains as the two Decepticons holding him dragged him back to the wall and reattached him to it before detaching Inferno. "Inferno! No! Don't touch him, leave him alone! Inferno!"

"It'll be alright, Red," Inferno called bravely as he was escorted out of the cell block. "Ya know Megatron ain't well-hung - I won't even feel his itty bitty l'il spike when it goes in!" There was a growl and a clang as the Decepticon leader obviously took exception to the firetruck's remark, followed by the sound of Inferno's beautiful laughter, though it did seem a bit forced. "I love ya, Red!"

"I love you!" Red Alert shouted back. Normally he didn't like to be overly demonstrative in public, especially among enemies, but he could hardly keep silent when his lover was about to sacrifice so much to keep him safe. The security director let out a low, desperate keen as the door slammed shut, leaving him alone to imagine the worst, as he always did, only this time he knew his imaginings would not be so far off the mark.


	2. Too Much

**Title:** Immolation (Part 2/100)  
**Prompt: **"Too Much"  
**Verse:** G1 (AU-ish)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 3218  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, Megatron/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** Unidentified Decepticon underlings.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Graphic rape. Anal. Dark.  
**Summary:** Giving Megatron the payment they agreed upon for Red Alert's safety does not go the way Inferno intended.  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Too Much

"I apologize for the restraints, Inferno," Megatron all but purred, hand petting slowly and insolently over red plating, "but you are a large mech, and while I have no objections to you being subject to _my_ whims, I do not want to be subject to yours if you should change your mind."

"I ain't changin' my mind," Inferno growled, trying to maintain his show of defiance, which was difficult considering how he was chained down on his hands and knees in a position that seemed to enhance his helplessness. "As long as ya keep up yer end of the bargain, I'm keepin' up mine. So all yer doin' by havin' me trussed up like some human's Thanksgivin' turkey is showin' yerself for the coward ya are!"

"A coward am I?" the Decepticon leader murmured, arching one optic ridge. "Not unlike your sweet, precious Red Alert who so willingly allowed you to take his place on my berth..."

"Leave him outta this!" the firetruck snarled, a flare of anger rising inside him. How dare he talk about Red Alert like that! Red hadn't wanted him to do this, he had protested, but Inferno was confident this was the right choice. He felt certain that Red would have suffered more in this situation than he was going to, especially with the prospect of his glitch acting up and making the other mech even more vulnerable. "Ya ain't worthy ta kiss his pedes!"

"I suppose you think yourself noble, that your sacrifice will be meaningful, that _he_ is worth what I will put you through?" Megatron chuckled, leaning closer to whisper almost tenderly in the red mech's audio. "And when you're face down with my spike buried in your aft, and I'm fragging you so hard you can taste me in your mouth, I wonder what you will think about him then?"

A shiver of apprehension ran through Inferno's frame before he could stop it. "Shut the frag up, ya hear!" The silkenly filthy words emerging from the Decepticon leader's vocalizer filled him with fury underscored by a fear, a fear that he refused to acknowledge, let alone accept, forcing the emotion down just as soon as he felt it prickle.

The grey mech clicked his glossa admonishingly, and seemed to be enjoying himself entirely too much considering that they hadn't even gotten to the truly awful part, the part that he would doubtless relish and that Inferno would spend the rest of his existence trying to forget. "Inferno, Inferno, Inferno... is this how you propose to win your freedom? Your rage is a sign that your resolve is already crumbling."

Inferno pulled air in heavily through his intakes, trying to force himself to calm down. He hadn't expected to be toyed with like this, just used, and the smug, insinuating banter, no matter that he felt he was holding his own, made it somehow worse. "Quit playin' around. Do ya want me or not?"

"Fine." Megatron opened his panel, revealing an impressively sized spike that Inferno tried not to gawk at, or think too hard about, considering what was going to happen later. "What do you think of my - oh, what did you call it? - 'itty-bitty' equipment? Now it is time for you to eat your words and earn your freedom, if you can... Take it in your mouth."

Inferno wanted to take it in his mouth alright – so he could bite it off! But he knew that would only cause terrible repercussions for himself - which, if he were alone, he would probably risk - but also for Red Alert, and no matter how his pride tormented him, he couldn't allow that to happen. He shuttered his optics and wrapped his mouth around the huge appendage, not entirely able to conceal a shiver of revulsion.

Megatron did not move, only let out a small hiss of approval. "Yesss..." This was somehow worse than anything else he could have done - up to, and including seizing Inferno by the helmet and shoving the spike halfway down his intake by force – and the slagger probably knew it too, Primus damn him!

Imagining it was Red Alert was a little more difficult than he would have liked considering that Red, while not small, was by no means above average, and Megatron certainly was all that and more. Still, he tried to picture his gentle, sensitive lover as he swirled his glossa around the tip, paying special attention to the sensor laden underside, and then began bobbing his head. Inferno loved to overload Red this way, listening to his soft moans and mewls, seeing his hands curling tightly into fists on the side of the berth, feeling the dark hips curving upwards like a supplication towards his mouth, smelling the scent of ozone and sweet arousal, tasting the other mech's spike and knowing that he was the only one to have ever done so...

He must have been succeeding in his visualizations after all, because the Decepticon leader's engine began to thrum approvingly.

"Enough!" Megatron commanded imperiously, and stepped back from Inferno as if he had been scalded, his heating fans kicking in with a frustrated-sounding whirr, suggesting that he had not been unaffected by the firetruck's efforts.

"What's the matter, Megatron?" Inferno taunted, feeling a rush of optimism as he saw how the other mech was reacting, seeing that smug composure had definitely been ruffled by his performance. At this rate it would be easy to overload him quickly, and avoid too much damage to himself in the process. He hoped. "Never had it so good before? I'm kinda surprised, I woulda thought Starscream got lotsa practice."

Megatron snickered in spite of himself. "I wish he was as good at _using_ his mouth as he is running off at it," he admitted candidly, for a brief moment seeming almost... normal. Then the coldness came down over his features again and he moved behind Inferno. "Open your panel for me."

Clenching his dental plates, Inferno did as he was told, then cringed as Megatron's hand slipped immediately to his undercarriage. A finger poked experimentally into his spike housing, but Inferno wasn't about to release that if it could be helped, and after awhile the Decepticon overlord's finger moved over to Inferno's valve, stroking the external sensor nodes with a practised hand.

"Save yerself some time, Megatron," Inferno snapped, trying to disguise his discomfort, his growing uneasiness. "Ya're gonna havta frag me dry because I ain't never respondin' ta ya." Even as he spoke the words, he knew they were not true as, to his complete and utter revulsion, heat began building in his intimate circuitry under the knowing touch, a dark, cloying, shameful heat that his body experienced as pleasure, and his mind as utter betrayal and degradation. His fans switched on.

"Somehow I don't think so," answered Megatron, moving his finger up to lightly touch the edge of Inferno's valve, where, to the firetruck's increasing shame, a bead of moisture was already forming. The Decepticon leader scooped it up, and held it in front of Inferno's faceplate. Seeing it gleaming treacherously on that black finger made the red mech want to purge, and he nearly did when Megatron sinuously licked it off. "It tastes like... sullied honour."

"Well ya would know that taste of that," Inferno said, shock and apprehension coursing through him as the words he had intended to infuse with his previous defiance emerged instead as a sullen mutter. "'Cause that's the only kind of honour that ya got."

Megatron's only answer was to smile and move away, returning to caressing Inferno's valve. Finally, after teasing the edges for what seemed like an eternity he slipped a finger inside, beginning to pump it in and out. "Your body wants this, Inferno. I suspect you are the penetrative partner in your relationship with that insipid little security director, but you will not be with me. Your body knows I am your superior, that its true place is under mine, open, aching for my touch, receptive to my pleasure alone..."

"No..." He tried to hold back the denial, but it escaped anyway, and Inferno couldn't believe how weak his voice sounded. Megatron had barely done anything, and yet he felt like those poisonous words were ripping him apart. Why were they affecting him so, and why was his body responding this way? He felt a trickle of lubricant emerge from his valve and slide down his right thigh.

"Yes..." Megatron purred. "I think I will take what is mine now. But first... You must make your submission properly..." He pressed a button and the chains holding Inferno tightened, pushing inexorably downwards, forcing the red mech to lower his face and upper body to the berth.

The position brought home to him, more than anything else, just how truly lost he really was, with his head lowered in a posture of defeat, and his private areas, until now reserved only for himself and those he chose, lifted high, offered nakedly for the plunder of his most hated enemy. As still more lubricant trickled down his thigh, accompanied by a wave of self-loathing, he only barely held back a keen of despair.

Megatron moved behind him, he felt the bulk of that huge spike brush lightly across his valve, making inner muscle cables clench with torrid throb that sent a tremor through Inferno's frame. The Decepticon leader pushed in, the ample lubrication making it easy despite his size, and the moan that escaped Inferno as he felt himself being stretched obscenely wide was one of ecstatic, wanton anguish.

The intrusion burned in a way that was entirely too right and entirely too wrong. If he had been with Red now he would have been moaning and begging, looking forward to their congress with joy and anticipation. Instead he tried to tune out what was happening. "Just get it over with," Inferno hissed.

The grey Decepticon leaned down over him so he could whisper in his audio in an unconscious parody of the position Inferno often took when making love to Red Alert from behind. "Did you think this would be easy, Autobot?" he growled smugly. "Did you think I would just frag you quickly and then and let you go home and cry to your sympathetic, sentimental Autobot friends? No, you won't have it so easy, you offered yourself instead of a prize I wanted, and I'm going to use you well, long and hard until you are begging me to stop, and then, only then, will I give you up." So saying, the Decepticon leader began to move, but despite his words his movements were smooth and deliberate rather than rough.

Inferno felt his valve walls clench around the huge spike as it slid within him, each pass a wave of melting friction and utter humiliation. In and out, in and out, the wretched, wracking rhythm of regret went on and on, each stroke, and the unwanted pleasure from it, like a slap in the faceplates that the firetruck tried desperately to ignore, telling himself they would soon be free, that it would not be long.

But it was.

Atop him Megatron kept up a slow and steady pace for what seemed like joors, as if he was perfectly willing, and able, to frag Inferno for as long as necessary to crack through his thin facade and make the other mech go out of his processor, either with pleasure or humiliation, or most likely a mixture of both.

Somehow, through some miracle, or simple luck, Inferno managed to find a new reserve of strength within. He managed to force himself to be as quiet as possible, to say nothing, to do nothing, to behave as if it were nothing, as if he were nothing. It all came down to nothing, really. Nothing that was done to him mattered. Everything that _wasn't_ being done to Red Alert was the only thing that did.

The mech working ceaselessly over him eventually noticed his increasing unresponsiveness and pulled out. Inferno's spark leaped briefly with hope that maybe the Decepticon leader had just given up, but his next words banished that hope utterly. "Open your aft panel."

Not that. Not like this. Hadn't he given enough already? Couldn't he keep anything of his life before that wasn't despoiled? "No..." The denial escaped before Inferno could stop it, and the gun-moded Decepticon laughed a richly arrogant laugh.

"Ah, but I haven't overloaded yet, Inferno," Megatron pointed out smugly, rubbing Inferno's rear plating as if to highlight his ability to do anything he wished, "and that means you, and whatever part of your body I choose, are still mine. Open, or I will consider you to have defaulted on agreement, and I will retrieve someone a little more... compliant..."

His processor conjured up an image Red Alert, glitching from fear and pain as Megatron assaulted him. If he defied the Decepticon overlord now, all he had endured would be for nothing.

Inferno opened the panel.

Almost immediately, something slippery and cold was poured onto his aft port, followed by a finger, pressing inwards, as a not-unfamiliar ritual of preparation was enacted, only it was usually not Inferno on the receiving end.

"Did you do this to your pretty little Red Alert, hmm?" Megatron's whispers unconsciously paralleled Inferno's thoughts. "Make him lift his pretty little aft for your pleasure and then frag him until he couldn't walk straight?" Unctuously, the Decepticon leader painted the act that Inferno had always known to be loving and pleasurable in unpalatable terms of submission and degradation.

The steel coloured mech finished his preparation, and Inferno felt the head of the other mech's spike now pressing against his aft, and he knew that if he resisted it would hurt too much. So he forced himself to relax, to make the muscle movements that would allow the Decepticon leader to enter him more easily; to be an active participant in his own annihilation. Bit by bit the huge spike pushed in, until Inferno felt like his aft was about to split apart.

His rear port was burning unpleasantly despite the lubricant, but Megatron gave him no time to adjust, beginning to slide his spike back and forth within him. Inferno bit his lip components. Each slow thrust had a name: shame, humiliation, violation, powerlessness, defilement, weakness, worthlessness, helplessness, solitude, exile, isolation, despair... They stretched and tore at the sensitive components within his body, the sacred places inside his spark, and made him quiver and convulse with unwanted responses. His engine whined, because he himself could not.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Inferno found himself flinching as each movement became a spear of pain within him, occasionally worsened, rather than alleviated, by stabs of bitter and unsought gratification when a sensor node was rubbed against. The degradation went on and on, like a moment suspended outside of time. Everything that had gone before was forgotten, there was no future, all that existed was this eternity during which all Inferno had been, was, and ever would be came down to just one single word: victim.

For the love of Primus, why wasn't it over yet?

The he heard it, and at first he couldn't comprehend what it was, this break in the monotony of agony. It was the door to Megatron's quarters sliding open, and a voice, a very familiar voice, shouting in anger and panic. "Let me go! Where are you taking me? I demand to see Inferno...!' Abruptly the voice cut off.

"Here he is, Red Alert," Megatron said pleasantly, still working his huge spike within Inferno's aft as if he were doing nothing more than reading a stack of datapads. "As you can see, we have gotten quite comfortable together..."

Like one waking from a bad dream into a nightmare, Inferno shook himself, alarm, terror, and spark destroying mortification quickly being overshadowed by fear for another besides himself. He struggled in his bonds for the first time. "Ya sparkless slagger! Ya promised he wouldn't be hurt!"

"Oh, he won't be damaged, I assure you," Megatron replied, sounding unconcerned.

"Yeah? Well this wasn't part of our agreement," Inferno's protest sounded ineffectual even to his own audios, as new and unprecedented waves of shame flooding him. It was bad enough that he had to go through this, but to have his lover see him this way: hindquarters high in the air, presenting his valve and aft to the Decepticon lord in the most humiliatingly lewd and submissive fashion, vulnerable, violated, almost at the point of breaking... "Get 'im outta here!"

Megatron's voice held a terrible smile. "It wasn't excluded from our agreement, either. He shall stay."

"Inferno..." He couldn't see Red from the position he was in, but the utter shock and repulsion, and, worst of all, pity tainting that softly cultured voice cut through Inferno's spark like a laser scalpel.

"Red, darlin'..." Inferno tried to force out the burgeoning quaver in his vocalizer. "Shutter yer optics. I don't want ya ta see this."

There was a whine as Megatron's fusion cannon wound up to full charge and Inferno felt its thrumming heat suddenly flush against the back of his helmet. "Keep your optics open and look closely," the Decepticon leader countered warningly, voice deceptively mild, "or your precious Inferno will no longer have a head." For a terrible astrosecond Inferno thought Megatron was going to do it; for another, even more terrible instant, Inferno hoped he would.

Under the optics of their new audience, the grey, gun-moded Decepticon picked up his pace, beginning to pound into Inferno, exhibiting the first ever violence in the course of their forced, but previously gentle coupling. It hurt even more than before, but in its own way brought a measure of relief, as Inferno interpreted the roughness of the movements as a telltale sign of a mech on the verge of overload. He clung to the edges of the berth. Just a little longer...

"Do you see, Red Alert?" Megatron panted. "Do you see what I've done with your strong, resolute protector? I'm afraid he will be no good to you anymore... I know he used to be the type of mech who liked to use his spike, the kind who liked to be on top. Well, when I am finished with him, I promise he will be impotent in every way except to take it up the aft like a two credit pleasure model... And I," he punctured each word with a brutal thrust, "Am. Not. Even. Remotely. Finished."

Not finished? Not even now?

And suddenly, it was all too much, and to his mortification Inferno felt his hips moving, transfluid spurting on the berth as he overloaded to the demise of his pride, his hope, perhaps even his very life. A shuddering keen burst from his vocalizer before he could contain it.

Megatron had won.


	3. Smell

**Title:** Immolation (part 3/100)  
**Prompt: **"Smell"  
**Verse:** G1 (AU-ish)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 375  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, ?/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** Unidentified Decepticon underlings.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to multiple rapes/gang rape. Dark.  
**Summary:** At times like these Red Alert's advanced sensor net was a curse.  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Starting with this prompt things will be bouncing around somewhat as I try to convey the magnitude of what is being done to Inferno through several different scenes. Those scenes will be out of order, but the overall chronological order of the story should remain unaffected.

Smell

He could smell they had been with him.

At times like this his advanced sensor net was a curse.

He knew each one as they came to his cell and leered through the bars, positively reeking of the smell of Inferno's body, his fluids, his energon... and the pain felt like it was destroying his spark. He had never imagined he would ever feel such pain, the pain of knowing Inferno had been with another, let alone that it would be this way, forcibly, with no pleasure in the act. Over this situation he would have gladly chosen infidelity any day.

He tried to ignore the Decepticons as they gloatingly regaled him with tales of the depravities they had indulged in, the ways they had defiled his lover, but even if he had been able to turn off his audios, he still would have the unwanted knowledge forced upon him. They pouted like sparklings when he seemed unaffected by what they told him, but little did they know that conveying the atrocities they had committed to him did not require words.

Even the silent ones, the ones who looked into his cell with an inscrutable expression on their faceplates and left quickly, almost guiltily, even they told him something he did not want to know, and in such detail that it filled him with agonizing fury the likes of which he had never known before.

Even on those who had bathed themselves first he could still catch whiffs of each act, each moment of degradation. He knew exactly what each visitor had been up to, and whether they lied or told the truth about their exploits. He knew who had lingered in Inferno's valve; who had used his aft; who had - whether for their own twisted pleasure, or some psychopathic definition of compassion - managed to overload his spike; who had done something more damaging to him, like tried to take him two at a time - or worse. He could tell Inferno's injuries were increasing without even looking at the way energon dotted their plating.

He could tell Inferno was still alive when they left him.

Red Alert forced himself to ignore all of the other input, and think only of that.


	4. Mask

**Title:** Immolation (part 4/100)  
**Prompt: **"Mask"  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 485  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, Soundwave/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** None.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Not especially graphic rape.  
**Summary:** Soundwave takes his turn with Inferno and behaves quite... oddly. Who knows what thoughts lurk behind the telepath's mask?  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

As mentioned before, this, and the next few segments will be out of order, somewhat.

Mask

"Autobot: broadcasting emotions." The melodious yet monotonous voice of Megatron's third in command was almost welcome after his entirely too long session with the screechy-toned Starscream. His physical attentions were an improvement, too. Granted, Inferno was still being violated, but the Decepticon was being almost... gentle.

"Yeah, I bet I am," Inferno muttered darkly. After Megatron had succeeded in provoking him enough to lose their little contest, his ability to control the expression of his emotions had been decimated. It was coming back now, somewhat, but inside he would never be able to find a place of calm. "What's it to ya? I bet ya enjoy it, ya sick slagger."

"Soundwave: does not." The thrusts continued in silence for long moments and then. "Assistance: possible." The offer startled him, and he experienced a brief flood of confusion. Then Inferno felt it, like a spike pressed up against his valve entrance, a mental query, but with enough force behind it to easily break down his defences, making consent purely optional.

He refused nonetheless, with a loud "NO!" that was both mental and physical enough for the blue Decepticon to start a little in surprise. "Pit, no! I ain't lettin' ya mess around in there, not even if ya could make me believe I'm lovin' Red instead of gettin' hammered by y'all!"

"Proposed solution: possible, but unwise. Soundwave's influence: would be obvious."

"I wouldn't let ya do it, anyway," Inferno said, glowering up at the cassette player with as much anger as he could muster. "I don' want anyone makin' the mistake of thinkin' I like this, that I want any of ya. Ya can take yer offer of help, and ya can shove it up yer exhaust! But ya won't do that, ya will just push on through and shut me up anyway, won't ya?"

"Negative."

"What? Why the Pit not?" Inferno was shocked and surprised enough to demand an answer.

"Autobot: violated enough."

If he had been shocked before, Inferno was positively flabbergasted.

The telepath picked up his thrusts slightly. "Megatron: will release Autobots." He informed Inferno tersely. "Impact on Autobot morale: valuable."

"Why?" Inferno asked. "Why are ya tellin' me all this?"

Soundwave did not answer, but overloaded with a faint, rasping groan that was the only indication his composure had slipped. He withdrew immediately, retracting his spike and closing his panel before rising up off the floor and turning to go.

"Fine, don't answer me, ya slaggin' coward!" Inferno shouted. "I hope ya rust an' die! I hope that in yer numb, unfeelin' processor ya can hear me all over this blasted ship, so ya can't get any peace!"

"Soundwave: does." The Decepticon exited the room, leaving Inferno alone again for the short time it took for his next rapist to arrive.


	5. Threesome

**Title:** Immolation (part 5/100)  
**Prompt: **"Threesome"  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 536  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, Cassetticons/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** None.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Not especially graphic rape. Dark humour, which some may find offensive.  
**Summary: ****Soundwave's cassettes try Inferno on for size.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

As mentioned before, this, and the next few segments will be out of order, somewhat.

Also, yay 5% done! Although I remarked to someone that I may end up finishing all these prompts and then grabbing a few more from **fanfic100** before I say everything I need to. This story may look small and piddly now, but I foresee epicness (achieved through baby steps)! :D

Threesome

The moment could hardly have been called light-sparked, considering what he was in the midst of enduring, but it was still instrumental in helping him hold onto his sanity.

During one of those painfully occasional lulls when he did not have a Decepticon hammering away between his legs, he actually heard the sound of very juvenile sounding giggling behind him. He wasn't able to move much, thanks to his restraints - which at this point were configured to have him on all fours - but he was able to crane his neck enough to see a flash of blue and a hint of red behind him.

Into the room came the pair of Soundwave's creations, Rumble and Frenzy, dragging a large crate between them, the purpose of which he quickly realized. Of course. Megatron had said everyone was to have their turn.

They pulled the crate behind his aft and he heard one of them climb up onto it, and then... He thought he might have felt something, but he couldn't be sure.

A long silence and then... "Slag! It's too big."

"Told ya!" More of the immature snickering.

"Get up here, willya!"

"Hey!"

"No no, c'mere, stick yours in too!"

"What? No! Not while yours is in there!"

"Don't be a moron, I've fragged you, you've fragged me, now we'll frag him together - what the Pit is the difference?"

A pause. "Nothin', I guess."

"Alright, do it!"

"Alright, alright, hold on..."

"Hurry up!"

"Got it."

Another moment of silence. "That didn't really help much."

"I know, I'm gonna call Ravage."

"Aww, slag! Ya mean I hafta share my turn with him too?"

"If ya wanna get anything out of it."

"Fine, just hurry up!"

A few breems went by, and then there was the distinctive click-click of claws on metal.

"Ya sure took long enough!"

"Rrrowr?"

"I know, I know, just shut up and stick it in."

"Hey, get yer tail outta my face!"

"Quit pushin'!"

"Grrrrr!"

"Okay, okay, easy bro, that's it..."

A pause, and then a collective sigh. "Frag."

"Mrrrr?"

"Yeah, I'll call Ratbat..."

In the end they were all there, every one of Soundwave's creations, climbing all over him, jostling for a place as if he was one of those cars the humans filled up with clowns at the circus, and he just couldn't take it anymore.

Inferno laughed.

Despite the torment, despite the pain of his injured body and pride, despite his despair, he threw back his head and laughed. He laughed as they pounded ineffectually at his tough plating, complaining that he was spoiling the mood, he laughed and laughed until their spikes shrank from the humiliation and the group slunk off to console themselves elsewhere. He laughed until he feared he couldn't stop. He laughed until he was glad he couldn't stop. He laughed until cleaning fluid would have been rolling down his face if he'd had any left.

Later, the triplechangers came and tried to share him the same way as the cassettes had, and he wasn't laughing anymore.


	6. Sound

**Title:** Immolation (part 6/100)  
**Prompt: **"Sound"  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** R  
**Words:** 935  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, ?/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** Unidentified Decepticon guard.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to rape and suicide. Dark. Have some tissues handy.  
**Summary: ****Yet more angst caused by Red's advanced sensor net.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

As mentioned before, the next few segments will be out of order, somewhat.

Sound

He could hear him, even over the buzzing drones of dozens of Decepticons, he could still hear him.

Sometimes he raged; sometimes he growled and groaned; sometimes he shouted in surprise; sometimes he screamed like he was being torn apart; sometimes he keened with all the solitary desolation of an orphaned sparkling; and sometimes – rarely – he whimpered piteously in unwanted release, calling out Red Alert's name with longing and despair.

And sometimes, during those all too brief times when he was alone, he spoke directly to Red.

"Red... Are ya there?"

"I'm here, Inferno." Red Alert knew that Inferno did not possess his sensor capabilities, so answering him was a futile gesture, but it comforted him to pretend they were speaking together.

"Primus, I hope ya can't hear anythin', that they got ya far enough away that ya can't tell, but I know yer hearin' is real good, so I'm afraid ya might be able ta hear, so if ya are... I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Here Inferno was, being hurt and violated, and his first thought was to apologize because Red might be able to hear. Red Alert's spark ached.

"I am so sorry... It was my fault we got inta this mess, 'cause I didn't listen ta ya again, an' ran off half-clocked..."

They had stumbled across Decepticons waiting for the space bridge to open, and Inferno had fired first, rather than waiting for backup. At the time Red had been furious, but now, it all seemed so far away. "None of that matters anymore."

"I'm just glad I'm the one payin' the price... Remember that, Red. Whatever else happens, whatever I might say... I'm glad it ain't you."

"I'm not! Primus, how could you be so stupid, so completely, massively... bravely stupid?" Volunteering to take his place on Megatron's berth? Making that awful bargain? Definitely not one of Inferno's best decisions, but it was made out of love.

"If it had been, I don' think I coulda lived with myself... I... I... actually don' rightly know if I'll be able ta live with myself anyway, after this... but that ain't yer fault neither... Oops, gotta go, someone's comin'..." A short, bitter laugh. "An' it ain't gonna be me."

Red's hands clenched into helpless fists. This was the part he hated most. "I'm here, Inferno, I'm here for you, just focus on me. I'm here..." He whispered the words over and over again like a litany, as if by enough repetition he could force them to find their way to Inferno's audios.

An interlude of clattering metal against metal, of pain filled cries, mercifully brief this time, during which, over the distant, yet inescapable din, Inferno's words played over and over in Red Alert's processor. _Don' rightly know if I'll be able ta live with myself anyway, after this... _The security director felt his spark clench with fear and anticipated grief, even as he wondered how he could dare to be so selfish as to ask his lover to continue on after what had happened; hating himself, because he knew he would.

"Sorry Red," Inferno's voice came again. "I try ta be quiet fer ya, in case yer listenin', but sometimes I can't... I jus' can't..." A faint crackle of what might have been static, or a suppressed keen.

"Shhh, it's alright, I don't expect you to..." Hearing the other mech break down made Red Alert want to break through his chains and run to his lover's side, but he had tried struggling, and it was futile, so he tried to save his strength, knowing that when this was all over he was going to need to be the strong one.

"Ya know... I was gonna... I was gonna ask ya ta spark bond with me..."

"What?" He had suspected that Inferno's feelings for him were fairly serious, but at the same time couldn't quite trust his own judgement in the matter. Even when the firetruck proclaimed his love daily, Red Alert's belief in it could only sustain itself in an unwavering state for a few kliks afterwards. Hearing that Inferno had wanted to spark bond, however, was a proof even his most doubtful ideations couldn't easily refute.

"But now, now I'm glad I didn't get around ta doin' it, or ya would be feelin' everythin'..."

Red Alert let out a soft keen of his own, because in that instant he knew that he felt the exact opposite, that he regretted that they didn't have a bond so he could help his lover more, could share the burden, the awful pain he must be feeling...

"'Course maybe we mighta been stronger, together..." Inferno unconsciously echoed Red's thoughts. "But now it's too late..."

Red Alert keened louder. "No, it isn't!"

"'Cause I ain't never gonna put ya through this... How could I ask a mech like ya ta bond with a piece of slag, 'cause that's all that's left of me, Red, slag, a useless heap of slag... Even if Ratchet can fix up my body, an' right now I'm havin' my doubts 'bout that, Megatron was right – I ain't gonna be no good ta ya no more..."

"It's not true!" Red Alert shouted to the empty cell block, prompting the guard outside to look in, and then shake his head, returning to his post.

The red and white mech listened in vain, but Inferno didn't try to address him again for the remainder of his ordeal.


	7. Birthday

**Title:** Immolation (part 7/100)  
**Prompt: **"Birthday"  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** R  
**Words:** 538  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, Hook/Inferno, Implied Bonecrusher/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** None.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Possible squick* warning due to implied rape-related injuries. Implied rape.  
**Summary: ****Hook stops by to check on Inferno's state of repair, and to get his, of course.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

As mentioned before, the next few segments will be out of order, somewhat.

The concept of non-consensual spark-bonding being painful for the assailant as well as the victim is one I borrowed from my dear pal **lyricality** and her awesome fic "Seven Days" on the **beexsam**, livejournal community, and is used with her permission.

Also, please pay attention to the individual warnings at the top of each chapter. If you think things were upsetting before, they are going to get worse before they get better. There will be at least three more segments of Red and Inferno in Decepticon custody, so look at the warnings, and if they seem like more than you can handle, you can probably safely skip a few of the prompts without missing out on the overall plot.

***squick** - a verb meaning to cause unease or feelings of revulsion, most often applied to a reader's reaction to a specific scenario, derived from the word "squeamish" and the slang term "icky." (blackraptor (dot) net / m7fic / contents / terms (dot) htm)

Birthday

Inferno was positioned on his back when Hook showed up.

The red Autobot didn't bother asking the green and purple Decepticon what he wanted, because everyone who visited him wanted the same thing.

However when the enemy medic did not immediately open up his own panel and set about yet another systematic violation of Inferno's private places, other than to make a cursory visual inspection, he decided to ask the question in an exhausted voice. "What do ya want, slaggin' 'con?"

"'He's getting loose, can you tighten him up again?' they say," Hook began muttering to himself, making it difficult to tell whether he was actually responding to Inferno's query or not. "Tighten him up? Ha! That would require major surgery we don't have time for. If they had asked me I would have told them that they should give out turns in order of size, not in order of rank and then we would have avoided the problem completely. Of course they didn't ask me..."

The Decepticon's rant, oddly reminiscent of Ratchet, made Inferno turn his head to the side with a sound of pain that was more due to the reminder of the home he was missing so desperately than the dire prognosis of his condition, but even that emotion was faint, distant, a brief shaft of light in a smoke-filled room. He knew he should care about how bad the damage was, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to.

"'He's drying up, too', they say. Well you wouldn't be if the fraggers would just use the medical lubricant I left. Ah well, I'm here anyway, might as well fill you up." Hook addressed his comments to the supine Autobot for the first time, opening his abdominal access panel and fiddling around in Inferno's innards.

Vaguely he processed the sensation of his lubricant reservoir being refilled, and the panel being closed before the green Decepticon opened his chest. The mercifully vacant feeling abruptly vanished – no, he couldn't be, not his spark! It was the only place Inferno had left that wasn't violated in some way, and that only because a forced spark merge inflicted just as much, if not more, pain on the attacker as it did on the victim. Still, some Decepticons could be sick enough not to care, and he could be facing one of them at this very moment.

He wasn't aware of voicing a denial, but Hook stopped abruptly. "Relax, Autobot, I know better than to do that. I just need to refill your optical cleaning fluid."

Inferno blinked in confusion, having no idea what the purpose for that was. "Why?" he finally asked.

Hook finished topping up the fluid and closed Inferno's chest, finally opening a panel of his own, the one containing his intimate circuitry. "It's Bonecrusher's turn next."

"I don't get it," Inferno was barely in the conversation now that his brief respite was obviously over, but he heard himself speaking the words nonetheless.

"It's his sparking day today and I wanted to give him a little present," Hook explained, stroking himself to full arousal and settling between Inferno's legs. "He likes it when they cry."


	8. Choices

**Title:** Immolation (part 8/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Choices"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 554  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, Punch/Counterpunch*/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** None.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Implied rape. Unwanted sexual touching.  
**Summary:** He would arouse suspicions if he failed to take his turn with Inferno - he had no choice; at least that's what he kept telling himself.  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

This segment marks the return to a regular chronological order, and also the last scene of Inferno with Decepticons for the time being. Some people have asked me why (insert favourite Decepticon) did not get an onscreen turn with Inferno, but I really can't bring myself to draw this out anymore. Not to mention that the prompts are taking me elsewhere. There may be flashbacks if I am sufficiently inspired, but otherwise the remainder of the active Inferno torture will have to stay in my disturbed and twisted mind. Trust me, it's for the best.

Also, in this AU, the battle at Autobot City never happened, and the Autobots continued on with Prime as their leader right up into our time. Hence the more modern cultural references that you will be seeing periodically.

And finally, what you are about to read will not make a lot of sense unless you've read Punch/Counterpunch's* bio on TF wikia or something.

*Punch's Decepticon alias is called Counterstrike in this fic, because I just can't conceive of a spy with a name that obvious being successful for that long. :P

Choices

The Decepticon was squat, dark blue and visored, with a black helmet reminiscent of the Earth comic book hero Batman, though the odds of him having the nobler tendencies of the caped crusader were so low as to be in the negative numbers. He stared down at Inferno with an inscrutable gaze, though an almost imperceptible twitch of the other mech's lip components almost bespoke... disgust?

"They sure worked you over," the voice, when it finally spoke, reminded Inferno faintly of the actor Bruce Campbell. The deadpan tone was oddly devoid of emotion, even the lust which Inferno was intimately and unfortunately familiar with. The other mech sighed. "Well, that's what I get for being a member of the rank and file: sloppy seconds, or in this case more like... twenty-fifths?"

"My spark is breakin' for ya," Inferno muttered sarcastically, pleased by the Decepticon's discomfiture. Victories like this were small, and hollow, but they were the only victories he could get in this Primus-damned place, so he savoured them nonetheless.

The blue mech laughed in a way that sounded almost... approving? "So, you still have some fight left in you, even after all that? I must say I'm pleased, impressed even. They said you were blubbering uncontrollably before, and I was worried," the sentence came to a full stop, and then another bit was added, almost tacked on as an afterthought, "because I like my partners to have a little spirit. The name's Counterstrike, by the way."

"I don't care if yer name is Vector fraggin' Sigma - ya ain't my partner!" the large red mech snapped, optics flaring with outrage. The nerve of the 'Con - trying to chat him up as if they were back in some Iacon singles bar! "My partner is up in the detention block!"

"Touchy!" the bat-helmeted Decepticon exclaimed, still looking rather amused. "Very well, my... conquests, then."

Inferno winced, suddenly reminded of how many new notches on how many berthposts he was probably now responsible for. "Ain't a conquest if ya didn't work for it."

"Oh, don't be like that, Inferno..." The other mech purred, kneeling down to lay a hand on the side of Inferno's face. "Not all Decepticons are as selfish as the others have been. I, for one, am willing and able to work... any way you want me to. I know I can't expect your consent, but I can at least make things... bearable." A dark hand reached forward and wrapped itself around Inferno's spike where it lay against his thigh, looking limp and defeated, much like the rest of him.

The firetruck cringed as he was handled, making a sound of revulsion. "I wish y'all would just fraggin' stop that," he mumbled. "I got no choice in the matter an' whether ya can make my body feel good or not, I still don't want what's happenin'. But ya got plenty o' choices I don't - why, if ya wanted ta, ya could turn right around an' walk right out that door without doin' anythin' else ta me."

"If I wanted to," Counterstrike agreed, leaning down to run his glossa over Inferno's much abused spike,"but that isn't what I want, it isn't what I want at all..."


	9. Sight

**Title:** Immolation (part 9/100)  
**Prompt: **"Sight"  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 502  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, implied ?/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** None.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Graphic injuries from rape – yes they are that bad. **Strong risk of serious squick. ***  
**Summary: ****Inferno's ordeal is at an end and Red Alert sees the damage he has sustained for the first time.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Sorry for missing a few days of posting, but I was off at a family wedding.

The story is now moving back into chronological order.

Also, I mean it about the squick. **If you are going to pick a prompt to skip, this is the one, folks. ** Really, if you read beyond this point and regret it, don't say I didn't warn you.

***squick** - a verb meaning to cause unease or feelings of revulsion, most often applied to a reader's reaction to a specific scenario, derived from the word "squeamish" and the slang term "icky." (blackraptor (dot) net / m7fic / contents / terms (dot) htm)

Sight

They dragged an unconscious Inferno in the cell like he was a sack of spare parts, not even bothering to chain him since it was obvious he would get nowhere without help. He didn't even stir as they let his upper body drop to the floor with a frame-rattling clatter that set Red Alert's dentals on edge.

At first glance the damage seemed typical of a Decepticon beating: deep dents and scratches, broken windshield glass, and a caved in helm, but that was only superficial, practically cosmetic, compared to what else had been done. When Red Alert dared to look past Inferno's waist, he instantly had to look away again, systems warning of an imminent purge.

Inferno's spike seemed mercifully fine, if a little bent, which was probably the reason it hadn't retracted on its own, but below it was such carnage that even Red`s most wildly terrified imaginings had not done it justice. His lover's lower body was covered in so much transfluid it was more silver than red, and what wasn't silver was pink from the steady seepage of energon from his abused ports. Bits of the silicone polymer interior linings actually protruded from the distorted openings, and the damage was such that it seemed even Ratchet could not put it right. Just thinking about it, even without looking, was almost enough to short his processor.

Once upon a time the red and white security director couldn't get enough of looking at Inferno, and often followed him around the public areas of the Ark via security cam while on monitor duty, feeling his spark flutter with excitement as he gazed upon that powerful form and imagined what it would feel like surging against his own. Now he was so ill with fear and horror at the terrible desecration of his beloved that his optics practically burned, scarred forever by terrible afterimages that seemed to to have etched themselves into the tempered glass.

Before Inferno he had been content to hide in his little room and observe life as though it were a river, and he a creature on the banks, not much affected by its passage. Then the firetruck had barrelled downstream into his dull existence like a flash flood, sweeping him away from all that was safe and familiar, forever; had pushed him, not just to observe, but to see.

And sometimes that meant seeing painful things.

His spark pulsed a sickeningly hard thrum of distress within his chest, and he felt a familiar ache of an impending glitch attack forming beneath his helmet, but he forced himself through several slow cycles of air, willing himself to be calm. He turned his face again towards Inferno, took in his devastating injuries once more, and a sense of purpose and clarity settled over him, a thin layer of resolve coating the leaden weight of despair.

He knew what he had to do.

"Hey!" he bellowed towards the guard outside. "Hey! I need a medkit in here, NOW!"


	10. Touch

**Title:** Immolation (part 10/100)  
**Prompt: **"Touch"  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 1079  
**Pairings:** Inferno/Red Alert, implied Motormaster/Inferno, implied ?/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** None.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Graphic and disturbing injuries from rape. **Strong risk of serious squick*.**  
**Summary: ****Red Alert performs some emergency first aid on Inferno.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Yay, 10% done!

Behold as I magically pull Cybertronian medical theories out of my aft!

Also, I mean it about the squick. **If you are going to pick a prompt to skip, this is a good one. ** Really, if you read beyond this point and regret it, don't say I didn't warn you.

Groon: 1 hour

Orbital cycle: 1 day

***squick** - a verb meaning to cause unease or feelings of revulsion, most often applied to a reader's reaction to a specific scenario, derived from the word "squeamish" and the slang term "icky." (blackraptor (dot) net / m7fic / contents / terms (dot) htm)

Touch

After some persistent yelling from Red Alert, the guard finally took the time to fling a very old, very expired medkit into the cell. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. Opening the kit, the security director uncertainly took stock of its contents – the modicum of battlefield first aid all Autobots were required to learn had never covered situations quite like this.

The kit was furnished with a generous supply of silicone rubber pressure bandages, typically used for tying off severed fuel lines, or shielding areas where the electrical system had been compromised and there was a danger of electric shock to those transporting the casualty. As he looked at the bandages, Red remembered Ratchet's suggestion of how to use them to deal with deep, leaking puncture wounds when the damaged lines couldn't be accessed. He picked up a bandage and began grimly rolling it into a firm tube shape.

A glance towards Inferno told him that the firetruck was still mercifully, although also somewhat worryingly, unconscious. It wasn't stasis, since his injuries were severe, but not life-threatening enough to have initiated such a state, so it was probably some sort of psychological reaction, which wasn't at all surprising. All in all, it was probably better this way, considering what Red Alert realized he would have to do.

He moved closer to Inferno, then hesitated, worried he would do more harm than good, not wanting to touch the horrific injuries lest he traumatize his lover further. On the other hand, he had no idea when, or if they were going to be released, so real medical care for Inferno might be groons, or even orbital cycles away, and while the energon leaking from his damaged ports was an amount small enough to not be an immediate danger, that could soon change if it wasn't brought to a stop.

Red Alert steeled himself. "I'm sorry, Inferno, but I can't just let you die." Very carefully he pressed the rolled tube of bandage up into Inferno's abused valve. Inferno flinched and whimpered, and Red froze, worried that the other mech would awaken and panic, but after a moment Inferno settled once again. Red resumed his painstaking work, cautiously moving the frayed and protruding inner lining back into place before securing the cylinder of bandage with a bit of electrical tape. The trickle of energon was immediately cut off, and he hoped that the pressure on the damaged areas would enable the internal repair systems to tend to the broken capillaries and seal them off.

He made another, slightly smaller roll and inserted it into Inferno's aft port, alarmed and sickened by how easily it went in. Inferno stiffened with a cry of anguish, his optics unshuttering as he tried weakly to scramble away. "Stop! Leave me alone! Please, no more...!"

"Inferno... Inferno, it's me, Red Alert." Red Alert spoke in a calm voice, and kept his distance, because even a weakened Inferno could cause some serious damage if he lashed out. "I'm just trying to help you. You have... you're badly hurt and losing energon and I need to do something to stem the flow."

After a moment Inferno stopped moving, and his gaze seemed to focus on Red for the first time. "...Red? Is that really you?"

"Yes, it's me." He wanted to say something comforting, to assure Inferno that he was safe, but the security director knew that until they were home again they were anything but. "I'm here. It's over now."

"...hold me..." the firetruck mumbled, lying back on the floor.

"I will," Red Alert assured his lover, "but I need to finish what I was doing first."

Inferno tried to sit up, presumably to take a look.

Red forestalled him with a hand on his chest, not wanting him to be upset further by the sight of his own damage. "Please Inferno, just lie down and keep still, if you jostle things around your self-repair systems won't be able to make inroads on the damage."

The large red mech lay back down again, but he was beginning to shiver so hard his frame rattled. "Do ya have ta stick it right in there?" he asked, shuttering his optics with a grimace of discomfort. "It hurts real bad."

"I know it does," Red Alert murmured soothingly. "But you're losing energon, and we can't let that go on. I'll be really careful, alright?"

Inferno bit his lip components and then nodded with clear reluctance.

Red Alert put aside the bandage that had fallen out and rolled a new, clean one, pushing it carefully inside Inferno, then taped it in place. "There that's it, we're all done." He rummaged through the rest of the kit, hoping for a shot of pain killer, even a module to dampen pain receptors, but there was nothing. It figured that the Decepticons would not go for such compassionate niceties as pain management.

"Red?"

"Yes, Inferno?"

"Do ya think ya could fix somethin' ta cover me? Motormaster... ripped off my panels an' he... he kept 'em as a souvenir..." The abject shame in his lover's normally proud, rich voice shook Red Alert to his core.

The bent and mangled edges of Inferno's pelvic armour took on a whole new meaning. So that was what the screaming had been about. He had guessed that Inferno, in a moment of defiance against the Stunticon leader, had shut his panels on him, due to the aforementioned Decepticon bellowing demands of "Open up!" The terrible, pained shouts he heard afterwards told him Inferno had paid dearly for his resistance, but not what had happened, precisely. "I'll see what I can do..."

The medkit yielded a thin, heat reflective blanket which Red Alert tore a strip of off, using it to cover Inferno's private areas and taping it down. He used the remainder of the blanket to cover up as much of the trembling crimson form as he could before lying down next to the other mech, pressing as close as possible.

At this point, had their situations been reversed, Inferno would have whispered that everything was going to be alright – a well-meaning, but very possibly incorrect platitude. Red Alert couldn't bring himself to do that, instead speaking the most comforting truth he could think of. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."


	11. Taste

**Title:** Immolation (part 11/100)  
**Prompt: **"Taste"  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** R  
**Words:** 424  
**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert, implied ?/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** None.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Strong allusions to non-consensual robo-fellatio. Mild squick warning.  
**Summary: ****Inferno needs a kiss to help him forget, and Red Alert's advanced sensor capabilities continue to hammer him with TMI.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Taste

"Kiss me..." Inferno's voice was a thready whisper.

"What?"

"Kiss me, please, Red. If I'm gonna offline I don' want it to be tastin' _them_ in my intake..."

"You're not going to offline! Do you hear me!" Amidst the panic at the idea of Inferno succumbing to his wounds was another motivation. Red Alert realized he wasn't too keen on kissing his lover, knowing exactly where his mouth had been, but as soon as the thought crossed his processor he felt a wave of shame and guilt. _Inferno put himself through the Pit to save your miserable chassis, and besides, you love him, a kiss shouldn't be beyond your abilities..._

"Please..."

"Alright." Red Alert rose up onto his elbows and leaned over the prone ruby frame. Tentatively he brushed his mouth across Inferno's, and the big red mech tensed imperceptibly before opening up to let him inside. Steeling himself, Red slid his glossa into Inferno's mouth where his chemo receptors were immediately swamped by such an overwhelming miasma of Not Inferno that he thought he would be ill. When his subroutines started furnishing him with data on the individual _contributors_, cross referenced with what unsought information his olfactory sensors had gathered earlier, he shut the program down with a small sound of despair. Focusing his mind back into the kiss, he forced himself to sweep his glossa around, infusing as much tenderness as he could into the act despite the unfamiliar, unpleasant flavours assaulting him, and lived for the moments when the pure, unadulterated taste of the mech he loved came through clearly.

Beneath him, Inferno's engine gave a small hiccuping sputter, which was the only warning before the fire engine mech started sobbing uncontrollably. Red tried to part their mouths to offer comfort, but Inferno seized his helmet between desperate fingers, keeping him where he was. With a sob of his own Red pressed further against Inferno's frame, deepening the kiss to an almost damaging ferocity which Inferno returned. It went on and on, wild, needy, awkward, their dentals sometimes clashing together, reminding Red of the first time he had tried to kiss Inferno; it seemed like a lifetime ago.

It was not a kiss of arousal, not a kiss of romance, of pleasure, not even of passion, but it was a kiss of love: deep, overwhelming, all-encompassing, agonizing, love; love filled with such immense suffering that any sane man or mechanism would have surely fled to save themselves. Yet they did nothing but continue to kiss each other devouringly, as if by the act itself they could somehow consume each others' pain.


	12. Hours

**Title:** Immolation (part 12/100)  
**Prompt: **"Hours"  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 2162

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ratchet. Mentions of Prowl, Jazz, Optimus, Astrotrain, Soundwave.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Discussion of rape related injuries. Possible brief medical squick but, compared to what came before, this is hardly worth mentioning.  
**Summary: ****Ratchet has finished his initial examination of Inferno, and gives Red Alert the news.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Yay, more BS-ing of Cybertronian medicine! :D

FYI, Autobot City is still under construction in this verse.

This part is dedicated to Dr. Denis Mukwege, of the Panzi hospital in Bukavu, Democratic Republic of Congo, "who repairs the injuries of the legions of women gang-raped as a tactic in the country's 12-year-old war." ('Where repairing rape damage is an expertise', The Globe and Mail)

That's right, injuries as bad, or worse, than Inferno's are happening for real to women in conflict zones all over the world. I'm not saying this to make everybody feel bad, but I figured that some education along with entertainment would not go amiss.

Groon: 1 hour

Klik: 1.2 minutes

Hours

They were home, and had been for several groons. Megatron had ordered Red Alert and Inferno released, even going so far as to have Astrotrain transport them to a drop off point within sight of the Ark, though safely out of range of its gun emplacements.

Inferno had mumbled something about Soundwave saying that this situation would have a 'valuable impact' on Autobot morale, but right now, sitting in medbay as Ratchet and First Aid evaluated Inferno's condition in a private examination room, Red Alert couldn't bring himself to care about the impact on anyone but Inferno himself.

Someone, he couldn't remember who, had pressed a cube of energon into his hands as he settled down to wait. He had laid it aside, but that had been at least a groon ago, and now he picked it up again, bringing it to his mouth with shaking hands and taking a deep drink, ignoring how poorly it settled in his overwrought tanks – he would need the energy for what was to come.

After entirely too long, the door to the examination room finally slid open, revealing a troubled-looking Ratchet, and Red Alert nearly dropped his cube in his haste to rise and chase the fearful demons from his processor with cold, hard facts.

"Sit back down," Ratchet said, rubbing his optics wearily as he settled into a chair next to Red Alert. "And before your processor starts bombarding you with worst case scenarios, I'm not telling you to sit down in order to give you bad news - in fact, Inferno's out of danger. I just need to get off my pedes for a while and I don't feel like craning my neck-strut while you hover like an oversized Laserbeak." When Red Alert was seated once more, the white and red medic fixed him with a serious look. "Your first aid efforts may have very well saved his life, you know. Those leaks may not have looked like much, but left untreated they could have been disastrous. Doing what you did can't have been easy, but you did the right thing."

Red Alert's tanks roiled in alarm at the faint praise, which, coming from Ratchet, was nothing short of effusive, and when The Hatchet was saying nice things to you, the situation was grave indeed. He wished he would stop trembling, but his body couldn't seem to cooperate.

"We got him stabilized," Ratchet continued, "and cauterized the energon leaks." At Red Alert's look of horror, the CMO patted his knee reassuringly. "Don't worry, we have him heavily sedated and pumped so full of painkillers he has no idea what's going on. Right now we're running a virus scan to make sure the Decepticons didn't leave any nasty surprises, and then later we'll do an external defrag on him – the first defrag after so much trauma is usually one of the worst, so if we get it over with here while he's good and medicated it should be slightly less... uncomfortable for him."

Red Alert frowned, looking down at his knee where Ratchet's hand still rested. He was getting the full sympathetic treatment, alright, and his chest felt tight, his spark fluttery and anxious. Cycling a calming draught of air, he forced himself to ask the question at the forefront of his processor. "Will he be alright?" 

"Physically? Yes." Ratchet's lip components formed themselves into a thin, grim line. "Though his recovery won't be quick or easy. The cosmetic damage, of course, will be simple. As for his internals, I will be going into his abdominal compartment and replacing the muscle cables that were damaged during the... assaults.

The rest, such as refurbishing sensor nodes, won't be so simple. I could do them myself it I had a micro-fabrication facility like we had back on Cybertron, but I don't, so the next best option is to let his self-repair systems take care of it. It will take much longer than surgery, but since his nanites have blueprints of each system in Inferno's body at its optimal functioning state, they will have no trouble repairing or recreating anything that was damaged. With plenty of rest, and a constant supply of mineral and other supplements so his nanites can harvest the building materials they need, his full physical recovery should take half a solar cycle, or six earth months."

The security director slumped a little in partial relief.

"As for mentally..." Ratchet leaned forward and massaged his helmet with a sigh. "I have no fragging idea."

Red Alert nodded, not at all surprised by that piece of news. "I remember how I was after Starscream, and he didn't even do... that..." He waited a klik, thinking Ratchet would say something to fill the silence, but when no words were forthcoming the compulsion to speak again overtook him. "There was something else..." He hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to bring up what Inferno had told him during those dark moments aboard the Nemesis. It could have been a passing thought, one that would never be acted upon. Surely Inferno was such a strong mech, too strong to just give up like that?

"Red Alert if you know something that could affect Inferno's recovery, you had better tell me," Ratchet counselled, levelling a searching look towards the red and white Lamborghini. "I know you want Inferno to have the best care possible, but I can only give him that if I know all the facts."

Red Alert finally nodded in resignation. "Well," he began reluctantly, "while he was being... hurt, I could hear everything that was going on - "

Ratchet looked at him, aghast, as the realization hit him. Even though Red's enhanced senses were common knowledge, it was difficult for someone not so gifted, even a medic, to imagine just how far reaching his capabilities really were. "Oh Primus, you could, couldn't you?"

"Yes." Red fought the compulsion to expand upon the horrors his advanced sensors had foisted upon him during Inferno's ordeal, the merciful ignorance of details that an ordinary mech could have enjoyed in a similar circumstance. "...and sometimes, in between, he would talk to me. At one point he said that he didn't know if he could live with himself after what happened..."

Ratchet frowned. "That's very serious, Red. It's good that you told me." He leaned forward a bit more. "As his partner, you've come to know Inferno very well. Do you think he is a danger to himself?"

"I... I don't know," Red Alert admitted. "He's very proud, proud of how tough and strong he is, proud in general, really. You know how this whole thing got started? Megatron was going to take **me** to his berth, but Inferno offered himself instead, made a bargain that if he could get through what Megatron did to him without getting upset, then Megatron would let us both go. He truly believed he could do it, because he even agreed to the clause Megatron tacked on: that if Inferno failed he would have to... with all the Decepticons on Earth..."

Ratchet's crimson hands curled into fists, his optics hardening. "Primus, I knew from the damage it had to be something like that, but so many? Megatron has sunk to an all new low..."

Red Alert had to force himself to continue. "All his life, Inferno thought he was strong enough to handle anything, but he learned in the worst way imaginable that it wasn't true. Ratchet, if you heard him back there... I don't know, I just don't know!" He was so torn, so confused, when, had it been any other Autobot, the right course of action would have been clear. His cautious nature demanded he protect Inferno – _preserve him for your own selfish needs, _a nasty voice in his processor taunted - and his inclination to fear suggested that it was likely Inferno would try something, but on the other he didn't want to look like he didn't have confidence in the mech he loved.

"Easy Red," Ratchet said gently. "It sounds like you're very worried about Inferno, and I think maybe it would be better if we erred on the side of caution, don't you? We'll have the suicide watch protocols in place before he leaves medbay, but we'll keep an eye on things, and if it seems like he's not going to try anything, we can always re-evaluate."

Hearing it stated so starkly made Red Alert's shudders increase. Suicide watch protocols meant disabling all of Inferno's weaponry, and making sure he wasn't able to obtain the means to harm himself from any other source by putting the entire Ark population on guard for his welfare. It was an obvious signal that something was wrong, and he knew that Inferno, proud as he was, would not appreciate having his damaged state broadcast over the whole ship, even if the reasons themselves were not revealed. However, if the choice were between Inferno's pride and Inferno himself, Red knew which he would pick. "I think you're right."

The CMO nodded. "Of course I am. Would you like to see Inferno now?'

Red nodded. "Please."

"He's not conscious, but I promise I will let you know as soon as we're ready to wake him up," Ratchet said, leading Red Alert into the private room where Inferno rested.

The huge fire engine bot was hooked up to various drips and consoles – carefully monitored by First Aid - his still battered frame draped with a thermal blanket as much to hide his more personal injuries as to keep him warm. His expression was disturbingly peaceful, which could only be a function of the drugs in his system rather than his true state of mind. He appeared to have been meticulously cleaned, but Red Alert could still smell traces of otherness about him, though he would die sooner than ever mention it to anyone – and eventually it would be washed away, in any case. The security director only wished the other reminders of the terrible events could be swept away so cleanly.

Red Alert's hand wavered for a moment before he reached out to stroke Inferno's face, the bent and twisted white ailerons that framed his helmet like the feathered wings of one of those beings from human mythology, angels, they were called. In the stories he had been told they were powerful guardians, protectors, comforters of the hopeless and oppressed. He wondered what would happen to their charges when the compassionate defenders they had come to rely upon were themselves broken and in need of solace. Of course that didn't happen in stories, it never did. "I love you," he whispered falteringly. "I love you so much."

"Come on, Red," Ratchet draped his arm around the white shoulders, steering Red Alert gently from the room. "Now I want you to finish your energon and then grab a spare berth and try to recharge for at least a little while."

"But I'm supposed to have a meeting with Optimus, Prowl, and Jazz," Red protested, albeit weakly. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, but he was afraid that if he took any time for himself now, and lost the fragile shell he had constructed over his emotions, he would never be able to get through the necessary debriefing without breaking down completely.

"I commed them already," Ratchet said. "I told them I need you under observation for a few groons, which, by coincidence, I actually do."

"But..."

"Well, just finish your energon at least," the CMO said, picking up Red's discarded cube and handing it to him. "You're going to need all the energy you can get."

If circumstances had been normal, Red Alert would have been immediately suspicious at how easily Ratchet gave in. Instead, he accepted the cube, and downed it quickly, his tanks gurgling audibly in disapproval, though fortunately they did not seem immediately inclined to purge. "Are you happy now?" he asked, though he couldn't care less what the answer was.

"Almost." Ratchet set the empty cube aside, then there was a hiss near Red's neck, and a sense of pressure, which he identified too late as an air injector doing its work. "I just gave you something to help you relax. Now let's get you to a berth."

As the soporific effects of the drugs began to take effect, Red Alert realized he would shortly be useless to anyone, and resignedly allowed himself to be conducted to one of the repair berths and guided to lie down.

"Everything will still be here when you wake up," Ratchet assured him.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Red Alert whispered, drifting unwillingly into a troubled recharge.


	13. Not Enough

**Title:** Immolation (part 13/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Not Enough"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1398

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Optimus Prime, Jazz, Prowl.

**Warnings:** Sticky.  
**Summary: ****Red Alert makes his report on the 'incident', then he and the command staff discuss Inferno's condition and what to tell the rest of the Autobots.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle – 1 day

Not Enough

"Let me start by saying how relieved we are that you and Inferno made it home," the red and blue Autobot leader did not add the word 'safely' and at least to Red Alert's mind it was conspicuous by its absence. Optimus paused, regarding Red Alert searchingly. "You know I would have gladly postponed this meeting, it hasn't even been an orbital cycle since your return."

"No Optimus," Red Alert said quickly. "It's best to do this while the details are fresh in my mind." Not to mention while his composure was still intact. _This must be what shock feels like_, he thought. It felt like he was deep underwater, watching events at the surface that he couldn't seem to comprehend.

Optimus nodded sympathetically. "I understand." He reached over and lightly patted Red's arm. "I know the subject will be difficult for you, but remember that you are among friends."

Red Alert returned the nod weakly and began his tale. He spoke in a quiet, distant voice, trying to relate the terrible memories in his files as dispassionately as he could. Around the table, Optimus, Prowl and Jazz listened silently, offering no interruptions, as if they sensed he would falter if he were forced to pause. He kept his optics downcast, watching his dark fingers twisting and wringing themselves together fretfully, as powerless to stop them as he had been to prevent the Decepticons from harming Inferno. When he finally finished he heaved a huge sigh of relief, and took a steadying drink of the energon which had been provided for him.

Even now he couldn't bring himself to meet their optics, to see the pity in their expressions, or the righteous ire. The emotions themselves seemed futile to him, and the efforts that would be made as a result of this meeting almost irrelevant. No gesture after the fact, no matter how compassionate, was going to help Inferno. Even time, regarded as a universal healer, might be insufficient against such spark-shattering wounds, and the thought terrified him.

"I know that was difficult for you, Red Alert," Optimus began, after a shared uncomfortable silence that was entirely too long. There was an uneasy, unsettled edge to his usually composed voice. "Your spoken testimony will serve in place of a written incident report, for both you and Inferno, although later if he feels able to clarify any details, he will be permitted to do so."

Red Alert made a noise of agreement, not trusting himself to speak.

"Ratchet has placed Inferno on indefinite medical leave, and suggested that you should be as well. I concur with his suggestion." There was a pause, as the red and blue mech waited for the loudly voiced objections that would usually follow any attempt to remove Red from his duties. Red Alert waited too, waited for the panic, the agitation, but it didn't come. The astroseconds ticked by uninterrupted until Optimus' optic ridges lifted in surprise, and not a little concern.

"Thank you," was all Red Alert finally said, and though he did, at last, feel a faint twinge of guilt and alarm that he was having such little trouble abandoning his responsibilities, he couldn't seem to muster very much concern. _Why am I letting go so easily?_

The look of surprise was shared between the three members of the command staff before Prowl spoke for the first time, his door wings held abnormally high and almost vibrating with tension. "If you wish, we can discuss the arrangements I will be making to see that your shift is cov - "

"That won't be necessary," Red Alert interrupted. "I trust your judgement." To his surprise he found that it was true. Prowl really was competent, and if anyone could see that his duties were handled properly, it would be the tactician.

Another glance was shared between the three, and Red Alert suspected they were frantically comming each other in spite of how impolite it was. He waited for the sharp stab of fear and affront that would usually affect him after such a conclusion, but it never came.

"Then that concludes your official duties for the moment," Optimus finally said. "Unofficially, however, you still have an important part to play: that of Inferno's advocate. Ratchet has informed me of your concern that Inferno might possibly harm himself, and his intention to ask for suicide watch protocols to be initiated. Do you concur with his assessment?"

The security director set his jaw tightly. "I do."

"Then I guess all that's left is ta figure out what ta tell everyone," said Jazz in a voice too neutral, too carefully controlled, that in its own way betrayed his discomfort as much as an outright emotional display. So different was Jazz's behaviour from the normally expressive mech they all knew, that it almost seemed as if he and Prowl had exchanged demeanours. "We put out that Inferno was badly injured while the Decepticons held ya, and said he wasn't up ta seein' visitors, but ya know that's not gonna hold off the waggin' glossas for long. Plus when he's up an' around again, they're gonna see by the way he's actin' that it was more than just a beat down that he got. For all intents an' purposes he was tortured, and mechs that've been through that, well, they take a while ta get back ta normal..." The unspoken conclusion hung ominously in the air between them: if they ever do at all.

"I can't make that decision for Inferno," Red Alert replied. Things were going to be difficult enough between them without him taking the responsibility for revealing or not revealing what had happened. "But you're right, Jazz - there will be rumours, and, much as I would like to pretend this whole situation never happened, it did and people are going to notice something is... different about Inferno. Not only that, but if... violations like these are going to become a regular occurrence, we need to prepare everyone for the possibility."

"I agree," said Prowl, frowning deeply with undisguised concern."This is potentially a new tactic. Also, the fact that Soundwave highlighted the impact the situation would have on our morale suggests that if we try to keep this from our troops the Decepticons will find some way to inform them anyway, which would have a worse effect than if we had simply been up front with everyone in the first place."

Optimus nodded as Prowl finished, regarding each mech at the table in turn. "All of you have raised valid points, but Red Alert is right: what to tell the others is not our decision to make, but Inferno's. When he is well enough to receive visitors I would like to speak to him, and I will outline the positions we discussed here, but I will abide by whatever choice he makes. If he chooses not to reveal his experiences to everyone, that is his right, and we will do what we can to protect the crew without compromising his privacy."

"An' if the Decepticons get tha word out anyway?" Jazz growled, frustration breaking through his uncharacteristic calm. "Come on, Prime, ya know they ain't gonna keep quiet – the sick fraggers are gonna crow like retro-roosters on a slagheap!"

"If that happens - " Optimus began.

"When," Jazz interrupted.

"If - "

"When." Prowl grimly added his voice to Jazz's, although he didn't seem too pleased to deliver this bald assessment.

"...then we will simply have to continue on with what we ought to be doing anyway: supporting our friend and comrade in any way we can," the Autobot leader finished solemnly. He focused fully on Red Alert. "Red, you must be exhausted from your ordeal, why don't you return to Inferno's side?'

The meeting would go on without him, Red Alert knew. They needed him to leave so they could talk about him and Inferno freely without worrying that they were going to say things he would find upsetting. It was a thought that, once upon a time, would have driven him to distraction. Instead he felt only a flash of genuine gratitude as he got up to leave the room.


	14. Days

**Title:** Immolation (part 14/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Days"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** R  
**Words:** 1543

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert, implied ?/Inferno  
**Other Characters:** Ratchet

**Warnings:** Sticky. Non-graphic allusions to castration/de-sexing. Allusions and mentions of rape. Faint suggestion of something that could be interpreted as suicide. One particularly graphic and disturbing image.  
**Summary: ****A few days after their arrival back home Inferno returns to consciousness, and Ratchet explains the restrictions he will be under until he is healed.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Orn: 13 days

Days

He didn't hurt, that was the first thought that crossed his processor. The raw, burning, tearing ache between his legs was gone, replaced by a numbness so welcome that he couldn't bring himself to care even if it had been achieved by excising the damaged parts completely. For a moment he even went so far as to entertain the possibility with some relish, until he realized that it wouldn't save him from a repeat of the assault; the Decepticons, rather than be thwarted by his lack of receptive openings, would just cut themselves a new hole to violate.

His vocalizer emitted a keen of anguish and he onlined his optics, panicking as hands pressed down upon his chest, holding him in place. They were calling his name, taunting him, they were going to do it all over again!

"Inferno!" A familiar sounding voice began to penetrate his haze, a familiar face appearing in his field of vision. "Inferno, calm down, you're safe now, you're home!"

"Red?" a rough, weak voice croaked in a feeble parody of his own.

"I'm here, you're safe now," Red repeated, an anxious expression on his faceplates as he grasped one of Inferno's hands, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"How long have I been out?"

"Three orbital cycles."

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet asked, moving into view as well.

Inferno savoured the sensation of being pain-free for a few moments before replying. "I... I don't hurt no more. I can't feel nothin' down there. Did ya take everythin' out?" He found himself strangely calm as he asked the question since he had already resigned himself to the fact that his interface equipment had been damaged beyond repair. It was just as well, really, since he didn't think he could bring himself to ever use those parts again, even if they were in perfect working order.

"Primus no!" the CMO exclaimed. "We just stopped the energon leaks and repaired your muscle cables, and fixed the alignment of your spike. The rest will take a while, but you will eventually be back to full functionality in that regard."

"Oh," was all Inferno said, while inside his emotions were in turmoil. There was a faint twinge of relief that surprised him, but overall he felt a sense of injustice. It didn't feel right that after he had been through so much his body could be reset to what it had been before, that the indelible, crippling damage to his spark would not also have a physical counterpart.

Ratchet didn't seem surprised by his less than enthusiastic attitude, but Red Alert regarded him anxiously. "That's good news, isn't it? Some day, when you're ready..."

"Why don't we all go over your recovery plan?" Ratchet interrupted smoothly, sounding artificially cheerful.

Inferno shot the medic a grateful look.

"Alright," Red agreed.

"You'll need to be on complete bedrest for at least a month, and on partial bedrest for even longer. No bending, no squatting, no heavy lifting, definitely no transforming, in fact no exertion of any kind - including intercourse, despite the fact that you would still be able to participate as the penetrative partner since your spike is - "

The only intimacy he wanted now involved his hands buried in a Decepticon's internals. "What about fightin'?" he interrupted.

"Last time I checked that qualifies as exertion," Ratchet replied dryly.

"But Ratchet," Inferno pleaded, "I _need_ ta fight!" As the words escaped his vocalizer he realized it was true, that the idea of expunging his rage and shame in the heat of battle made his spark leap with its first glimpse of hope since the day of their capture.

"What you need is to focus on your recovery!" Red Alert exclaimed, looking agitated, and Inferno could have sworn he saw a faint glimmer of blue over his lover's helmet sensors.

"Ain't nothin' gonna help my 'recovery' more than reachin' into a 'Con's chest an' rippin' out his spark with my bare hands!" Inferno growled.

Ratchet placed his hand briefly on Red Alert's shoulder to calm him, shooting Inferno a look of concern, almost, but not quite, masked by disapproval."The fact that you believe _spelunking_ in Decepticon innards without a medical licence to be instrumental to your recovery would be enough reason to put you on indefinite medical leave," he stated in an irritated tone, "had I not already done so."

"Ya can't do that!" Inferno wasn't a panicky type by nature, which was part of the reason he and Red did so well together, but he was definitely panicking now! The unfamiliar sensation made his muscle cables tense and his spark flicker wildly like a candle about to go out.

Logically he knew that if he would need to heal before launching himself back into life as it had been before, but healing seemed like such an impossibility that he thought it would be better to just to use the last of his strength to find peace for his spark any way that he could. He felt an uncomfortable twinge at the idea of abandoning Red, but Inferno knew that he was useless to his lover now, nothing but a burden to someone who was already burdened enough.

"I can and I have," Ratchet said simply, resuming his lecture as if nothing had happened. "I want to keep you here under observation for at least a few more orbital cycles. Then you can move back to yours and Red's quarters. I'll check to see how your internal repairs are integrating once an orn, and when they have been properly assimilated into your structure and there's no longer a risk of prolapse – that is to say, things falling out of place," he explained delicately, "we can talk about letting you be more active."

"Then I can fight?" Inferno asked, hopefully, even though he already knew what the answer would be.

"Then you can do things like leave your quarters and spend time in the rec room," Ratchet countered.

"I'm on leave as well," Red Alert told him. "I'll keep you company. It won't be so bad."

Inferno would have liked to stay on the subject of getting back onto active combat duty, but the words he had just heard were so shocking that thought he would have a cpu lock up that would rival one of Prowl's. He stared at his lover in disbelief. "Yer on _leave_?"

Red Alert simply nodded.

The last time Red Alert had been on leave for any significant period had been after the whole Starscream debacle, and it had not been easy to keep him from his work. Now, however, Red didn't look at all upset, and Inferno didn't know whether to be touched or insulted by the fact that the other mech was concerned enough about him that leaving his precious security work to others was not really bothering him. He opted for the less confrontational choice. "Aww, Red, ya didn't have ta do that..."

"Yes he did," Ratchet replied brusquely, "especially since I'm the one who put him on extended medical leave. Listening to a friend and comrade, let alone a partner, being... tormented like that doesn't exactly give someone a clear processor."

Sharp, icy fingers of alarm clawed at Inferno's spark, and he regarded Red Alert with horrified optics before shuttering them in despair. "Ya heard..." He remembered how he had begged, whimpered, screamed and cried out in pain, and the knowledge that Red had been party to all of that weakness made him feel violated all over again.

"I'm sorry," Red Alert whispered in a stricken-sounding voice.

"Ya couldn't help it..." Inferno replied, forcing himself to sound neutral, even though inside he wanted to lash out, grab Red and forcibly delete the memory files from his processor. _Ya fraggin' well coulda helped it! Wasn't enough that I let 'em use me that way ta save ya, without ya havin' ta listen ta it too? Ya coulda at least had the decency ta turn down the sensitivity on yer receptors, an' let a mech get raped in peace..._ His hands, including the one that Red Alert still held, clenched unconsciously into fists.

It wasn't until Ratchet started carefully peeling his fingers off those of his lover that Inferno realized that he had been squeezing too hard, that they had been trying to talk to him for the last few astroseconds without a response.

"...hurting me..." Red's voice, as it finally cut through the crimson of his rage and pain, was small and frightened.

Instantly Inferno released Red's hand as if it had suddenly become molten. "Primus, Red! I'm sorry, I... I just..."

"You should probably get some more rest, Inferno," Ratchet said practically, and before Inferno could stop him he had injected a syringe full of something into the energon drip.

He tried to speak, but the fast acting drug swept through him like a paralytic fog.

"Come on, Red," Inferno heard Ratchet say just before he drifted off again. "Let's take a look at that hand."


	15. Secrets

**Title:** Immolation (Part 15/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Secrets"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1244

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Optimus Prime

**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to rape.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Optimus comes to medbay to talk to Inferno.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Secrets

Inferno lay with his optics shuttered, pretending to be in recharge. He had feigned drifting off after he and Red Alert had run out of ways to dance around the subject of his experiences at the hands of the Decepticons, worried that the long silence that had arisen afterwards would give way to questions he didn't want to answer.

On a chair near his berth, Red was reading a datapad. Prowl had gotten Ratchet's permission to send the occasional item to Red Alert for his review provided that Red did not overextend himself. At first, to Inferno's surprise, Red had refused the offer, but as they continued to sit there without speaking he had finally requested an update and had launched into annotating it with the appearance of great gusto.

_So much for him wantin' ta spend time with me,_ Inferno thought resentfully, despite the fact that it was just as much his fault that they weren't interacting. He had tried to think of what they would talk about together on normal days, which was usually Red Alert's work, Inferno's patrols, and general Ark happenings. Occasionally a country music band Inferno liked came into town and if the concert was outdoors he could usually guilt Red into coming, with his audios adjusted to a lower setting, of course.

Right now, however, neither of them was working, and they'd been away from the Ark for several orbital cycles, there hadn't been any recent concerts, and the only momentous event in recent memory was one that neither of them wanted to revisit.

It was almost a relief when Ratchet stepped into the room and announced: "I know you're not really recharging, so you have a visitor."

Inferno startled nervously. "But I told ya I didn't want no visitors, err, besides Red," he amended.

"It's Optimus, and it's important," Ratchet pressed. "You can count on his discretion, and he won't keep you long." He glanced behind him pointedly. "Or I will personally amputate his antennae and hang them from my rear view mirror. Come on Red, let's go get some energon in the rec room, you haven't left medbay except for that meeting."

"A.. Alright." Reluctantly Red Alert got to his feet, and looked worriedly at Inferno. "Will you be okay without me?"

"I'll be fine, Red," Inferno forced himself to smile, feigning a confidence he doubted he would ever have again. At least all his repairs had been done, and he had been repainted, so he wouldn't have to appear in front of his leader still decked out in the numerous paint transfers from his assailants.

Both red and white mechs left the room, and Optimus stepped in, pressing a button to shut the door behind him. "Hello Inferno," he said, voice warm and caring, his optics glowing with soft sympathy above his battle mask. "How are you feeling?"

Inferno glanced away, not answering the question. "I guess ya know what really happened..."

"Yes. I have no adequate words to convey how much it grieves me that you experienced what you did," Optimus replied gravely. "Your actions, your _sacrifice_... In all my many vorns I have seldom seen such bravery."

The fire engine bit his lip components uncomfortably, unable to meet Optimus' optics. "Please don't..." he whispered.

"My apologies, I - "

"Who else knows?" Inferno interrupted.

"Besides you, myself, Red Alert, Ratchet and First Aid? Just Jazz and Prowl."

Inferno winced, a low moan of distress escaping him, unbidden. "Too many..." he said, almost too low to be heard.

Optimus moved further into the room, taking the seat Red Alert had recently vacated, still managing to look dignified despite having to compress himself into a chair designed for a smaller frame. "And so we come to the reason I am here. Inferno, the command staff and I discussed your situation, which is of great concern to us, not only because of its direct impact on you, but because we fear the Decepticons may commit the same atrocity again, on someone else. It would be easier to try to prevent such a thing from happening if we were able to warn - "

Unconsciously Inferno scooted over on the berth, putting more distance between himself and Optimus."Ya wanna tell 'em all what happened ta me."

Taken aback, Optimus simply nodded. "Yes. There are other reasons as well. Your behaviour is likely to be different than it was after those times when you were injured in the past, so gossip is inevitable. As well, we have strong reason to believe that the Decepticons will not allow us to keep the secret. They want to see us in turmoil, upset, shocked, and reeling from their brutal actions, and if we do not warn our people we will be playing right into their hands. A large amount of outcry is inevitable to a certain degree, no matter who the news comes from, but everyone will be even more agitated, even more divided, if they find out from a source other than us, knowing that we had been keeping the truth from them."

Inferno had remained in stunned silence throughout Optimus' explanation, but now he spoke out. "No. No, I can't, I don't want 'em ta know..." He felt his spark contract painfully in his chest. "Please don't ask me..."

"I'm afraid I must ask," Optimus said, shaking his head regretfully, "but you are within your rights to refuse. Is that your final decision?"

"I... yeah..." Inferno murmured uncertainly. Optimus' points were valid, and if the Decepticons were going to make sure the awful truth got out anyway, it made sense to jump the gun, but he just couldn't bring himself to agree.

"Very well," Optimus placed his hands on his knees. "We will do all that is in our power to protect your privacy, but you must prepare yourself for the very real possibility that our vigilance will be negated by outside influences beyond our control." He got up and headed for the door, hesitating for a moment, then bowed his head and left.

For a few astroseconds Inferno contemplating calling Optimus back, almost undone by the guilt of knowing that he had just set up his leader, whom he liked, admired and respected more than anyone with the exception of Red, to potentially take a very bad fall on his behalf. No, not potentially, definitely, the Decepticons weren't going to take this lying down, and the apprehension he felt at the idea literally sickened him.

His silence would buy him nothing but a very short respite, which would hardly be a respite at all with him wondering where, when, and how the truth would finally surface. Then there was the uncertainty of what others would say and do when they knew; his processor taunted him with images of everything from pity, blame, derision, even laughter at a once mighty mech brought low, forced to submit, sobbing like a sparkling as they...

There was a loud clang as his fist slammed down onto the berth, making him jump as if he wasn't the one who had originated the noise. He couldn't, he just couldn't... He needed time, however little of it there was, no matter how selfish he was to want it – it would just be yet another of his many failures...


	16. Work

**Title:** Immolation (Part 16/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Work"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1729

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ratchet. Allusions to OC firefighters/rescue workers.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Mentions of rape. A bit of WAFF amidst the omnipresent angst.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Inferno receives a get well card from the fire station where he volunteers.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

The get well card is inspired by **naggingfishwife**'s hilarious Red Alert and Inferno painting OMGWTFBBQ, which is available on DeviantArt and on her Livejournal community **art_by_fishwife****.** I hope she doesn't mind that I didn't check with her first, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise.

Yes, this is set in 2010, in case you hadn't already figured that out.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Work

Red Alert drove up to the entrance of the Ark and transformed, making his way back inside. He hadn't wanted to leave, but Ratchet had demanded he get some rest away from Inferno's berth in the medbay. The security director had reluctantly complied, retiring to his quarters, but then a couple of orbital cycles went by and Ratchet had angrily demanded that he physically leave the Ark and go do something besides sit and mope and try to avoid questions from his well-meaning comrades, who were still in the dark about Inferno's true condition.

Inferno had informed Optimus he wanted to keep it that way, and Red Alert could definitely understand the desire, seeing as it was something he would have wanted had their situations been reversed. The decision had surprised him, though, seeing as Inferno was almost always the voice of reason who would have tried to dissuade Red from making personal choices based too much on his sometimes irrational thoughts – apparently that ability disappeared when one was too close to the issue.

The red and white mech walked into the Ark and headed towards medbay. Ratchet had said he could come visit Inferno once the sentries had logged him as being out of the Ark for more than two groons. He had been tempted, initially, to just sit outside the Ark until the time was up, but he remembered a relevant errand he hadn't been able to complete before, which was just as well – the CMO didn't take kindly to people obeying the letter rather than the spirit of his instructions.

When he entered the private room where Inferno was resting, the fire engine did not look up from the data pad he was reading, so Red Alert tapped him lightly on the foot.

Inferno jumped slightly, looking up in alarm, and Red realized he was probably listening to music through his internal sound system, likely more of his omnipresent Blue Rodeo. "Shucks, don't scare me like that, Red!"

Of course Red Alert knew that listening to music wasn't the only reason for Inferno's startlement. Post-traumatic stress was a common affliction when you were fighting a war, let alone when you were fighting a war and you had just been brutalized above and beyond the normal injuries of battle. "Sorry," he patted Inferno's foot again, a little more gently.

"So where did ya go?" Inferno asked with faint curiosity. "I was surprised ya didn't just park yer aft outside an' wait 'til it was time ta come in again."

"You know me too well," Red laughed, then caught himself, wondering if it was even appropriate to laugh. He honestly didn't know what to do around his partner, worried about upsetting him in one way or another. "I, er, I went to the fire station. I had called them before, just after we came back, just to let them know you were badly hurt and wouldn't be able to make it for the next little while."

Inferno liked to volunteer at a particular Portland fire station when he had the time off, and had formed a real bond with some of the firefighters. With them the fire truck was in his natural element, sometimes quite literally. He loved the hot, dirty, smelly work and his size in bipedal mode helped them to execute fire fighting manoeuvres that wouldn't have been possible with standard equipment.

"Don't worry, I didn't tell them any details," Red added. "I just told them you were hurt. They should be used to it by now with all the occasions when you've gotten yourself scrapped, but when I mentioned how long your recovery was going to be they would have had to be complete morons not to guess this time was more serious. In any case, since I told them you couldn't receive visitors, they wanted me to stop by and pick up this..."

He unsubspaced a huge, custom-printed Transformer-sized get well card, smiling as he saw the picture on the front, which had been taken at the station's annual summer barbecue not long before they had been captured. It had Inferno, with his nozzle-hand deployed, pretending to be about to extinguish a barbecue grill piled with meat, and the nearby firefighters, all mugging for the camera, feigning a panicked rush to stop him. Inside the card was the message "Nothing can douse your spirits for long! Get well soon!" and signatures from every firefighter in the department, including the chief himself.

Inferno received the card, and chuckled slightly, a sound which warmed Red Alert's spark. "Aww, that's real nice, ain't it? They didn't have to do that, though, everyone already sent me a whole whack of e-cards. I was browsin' through 'em earlier." He scanned the messages, reading them all within a few astroseconds, then stood the card up on the bedside table next to him. "So how's everyone doin'?" he asked. "Did Luis' wife have the baby yet?"

"Yes, two orbital cycles ago," Red said. Although he didn't frequent the fire station like Inferno did, he was there - usually dragged by the fire engine - often enough to be familiar with its employees. Deep down he rather liked the fuss the firefighters made over his alt mode – the days of fire chiefs having Lamborghinis as their official car were long past.

"Any pictures?"

Red obligingly sent Inferno a data burst of the images he'd been shown at the station and Inferno's gaze went blank for a moment as he accessed them internally.

The fire truck made a face as he took in the red and wrinkled features of the newborn. "Even after all these solar cycles I still don't understand what so cute about 'em, not that I'd ever say that to Luis, o'course."

"Daniel was cute," Red Alert pointed out. It still amazed him that Spike, on the cusp of adulthood when they had first met, was now long married and had a child of his own, that Sparkplug, once a vibrant man in his prime, was now a wizened elder by human standards, though he was supposedly still quite fit and active for someone of his generation.

"Yeah, but he's _ours_, Red," Inferno said knowingly, referring to the special relationship between the Autobots and the human family who had first discovered them on Earth, and rather quickly adopted them.

"Yes, I suppose he is," Red agreed, realizing that this comfortable, easy conversation was like ones they'd shared before _it_ happened. He wished that this pleasant moment didn't have to end, but end it would.

Inferno was different now. Normally demonstrative and affectionate, he now never tried to touch Red. Where once he was open about what he was feeling, now he exerted a brittle attempt at tight control, seemingly unaware of just how abysmally he was failing. Every emotion was plain, if not on his face, then in the way he held himself, the way he moved. A prime example was when Inferno found out that Red had heard every moment of his ordeal, the shame-fuelled anger burning in his optics, in the crushing grasp of his hand – Red would have preferred yelling. At least then things would be out in the open.

Ratchet had tried to comfort him, after apologizing as profusely as he was capable of, which amounted to: "You know you would have had to tell him anyway – going through something like that, even as just a witness, is not something you can deal with alone."

"I know what you just saw was frightening, but Inferno is behaving normally," Ratchet had said, holding up his hand when Red would have objected. "No, he isn't his usual self, but he is acting as I would expect under the circumstances. Processing trauma of the kind he experienced is a lot like the process of grieving. He'll be going through similar stages of denial, anger, bargaining and depression before finally arriving at acceptance. Furthermore, don't take those stages literally, they're more like an idea of what to expect. He may not experience all of them, but he will experience at least a few, and not necessarily in that order. For that matter, he might cycle through several at random in a matter of orbital cycles, or even groons."

There was some consolation, however meagre, in knowing that Inferno was not reacting abnormally to what he had experienced, but it didn't take away the loneliness Red Alert was was feeling. Ratchet had told Red to come to him if he needed to talk, and he'd had similar offers from Optimus, Jazz, and even Prowl - Prowl, for Primus' sake! When the socially maladroit 2IC made such an offer, you knew your situation was grave, to say the least. But Red Alert knew he couldn't take any of them up on the offer, it just wouldn't feel right to talk about Inferno behind his back – after being the subject of so much gossip himself it would be hypocritical in the highest degree for him to engage in it now. As Red had once remarked "_I_ am the best person to talk to about me," thus Inferno was also the best person to talk to about Inferno.

If only it wasn't so hard. "Inferno..." Red began.

"I'm feelin' real tired now, Red," the fire truck told him hurriedly, like he had some sort of premonition that Red was going to broach a difficult subject. "I think I'm gonna get some more recharge."

Red Alert nodded and took his usual chair beside the berth, unsubspacing the datapad of reports he'd gotten from Prowl. He had thought to stay off work beyond when Ratchet cleared him from duty, so he could be there for Inferno, but now it didn't seem like there was much point.

He sighed and began to read, to all appearances very absorbed in his work, very much like he used to be. Only a careful observer would realize that he changed pages much more slowly; no one would know that he wasn't working on the pad before him at all, but surfing the Internet using his wireless connection, looking for advice for partners of people who had been raped.


	17. Food

**Title:** Immolation (Part 17/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Food"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 634

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Jazz. Ratchet.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Toilet humour, which I tried to do tastefully.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Some more lighthearted fare. ;) Inferno eats the special nutrient wafers Ratchet made to help him recover, and Ratchet reveals his secret strategy for getting a little quiet time for himself.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

And now for some Transformer biology as interpreted by me:

In this fic, "slag" means both industrial (smelting) waste and Transformer bodily waste, which actually is quite similar to the former. So yes, when Ratchet says "make slag" he means "take a crap". ;) And yes, this does have unfortunate implications for a certain Dinobot, but I just figure the Dinobots are so stubborn he refused to be addressed by anything else. ;)

I figure Transformers on Cybertron, since they consumed strictly raw energy, did not need to evacuate their waste systems often, maybe once or twice a year, because impurities were so rare. On Earth, however, because there is so much dirt everywhere, it happens much more often, though not as often as it does for humans.

Solar cycle: 1 year.

Food

"Can I have one?" Jazz looked longingly at the bowl of small grey wafers Inferno was holding.

Inferno had reluctantly agreed to a visit from Jazz when the blue visored mech had told him he had something important to discuss. However, once ensconced in the chair next to Inferno's berth, the black and white mech had commenced chatting with him in a very ordinary way, telling him stories about what was going on outside medbay, and even playing samples of a new country band that he thought Inferno might enjoy listening to.

The unexpected result was, frankly, an immense relief, and the red fire engine was almost enjoying himself. It was certainly better than the long, drawn out silences he had to look forward to in Red Alert's company. He paused in the act of reaching into the bowl of bite sized snacks, holding it out to Jazz instead. "Well I don't see why not - "

"I do!" Ratchet bustled into the room just in time to slap Jazz's hand away from the bowl. "These are for Inferno!"

"Aww, Ratch, but ya make 'em so good..." Jazz whined.

"Last time I checked my title was not Chief Confectionery Officer," Ratchet snapped. "In any case, you don't need any of the nutrients in these since you're not damaged. They'll just go right through you, and do you really want to void more waste than you have to already thanks to these filthy contaminated Earth energy sources? Even the solar energon seems to get little organic particles in it. Primus, I swear I've made more slag in the past twenty-six solar cycles than I did during the entirety of my life previously!'

"Ugh, Ratch!" Jazz groaned, covering his face. "TMI! TMI! I did not need images of ya usin' the waste reclamation system! I need brain bleach!"

Ratchet looked smug. "I bet you don't want some anymore."

"Pit no!" Jazz made gagging sounds.

Inferno laid aside the bowl. "I don't want no more either."

"Inferno," Ratchet said sternly, "if you don't eat every single one of those wafers I put out for you, your nanites are going to either start cannibalizing lower priority systems, or they will go into standby mode. Neither of those options is good."

"I don't like 'em as much this time around," Inferno admitted. The formulation of the wafers changed from patient to patient, and from injury to injury as different metals, minerals, and other substances were added in different proportions depending on what was needed for the nanites to effect repairs. "Too chewy."

"Too chewy?" Ratchet exclaimed angrily. "I could just give you the additives in your energon, but oh, no, I have to go taking my own personal time and concocting these custom treats for my extra damaged patients, and this is the thanks I get? I don't even know why I make these in the first place since it's only more encouragement for you morons to get slagged badly enough to pull my spark strings! Which I do happen to have, by the way, I'm not the shifty-opticed hack you all seem to think I am...!" The CMO suddenly ran out of steam. "You know, I rather liked the chewiness myself," he remarked casually, as if the whole previous tirade hadn't happened at all. He snagged a chip from Inferno's bowl and popped it in his mouth. "Mmm, I don't understand why you think it's a problem."

"Hey!" Jazz exclaimed. "How come you get some? Ya ain't hurt!"

"No," Ratchet said, "but I am the one who made them. Who says I didn't make up extra to snack on myself?"

"But what about the..."

"Oh, I don't mind more regular visits to the waste reclamation unit," Ratchet replied, smirking. "It's the only place I am guaranteed no one will bother me."

Jazz covered his audios. "La la la! I'm not listenin'!"

Inferno snickered in spite of himself.

"Alright, I'll leave you two alone again, but I mean it, no feeding your supplements to Jazz!" He wagged his finger admonishingly, then left.

"So, what did ta want ta talk ta me about, Jazz?" Inferno asked, popping a few wafers in his mouth and chewing. Considering how pleasant Jazz had been, he guessed whatever he had to say couldn't be that bad.

"About yer party, of course!" Jazz's bright exclamation was quickly followed by the saboteur's shriek of surprise as half chewed wafers sprayed his faceplates.


	18. Party

**Title:** Immolation (Part 18/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Party"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1706

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Jazz. Mentions of Hot Spot. Ensemble.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to rape. Allusions to suicide. Songfic. A bit off WAFF. Possible tissue warning.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary:**** A party is held in Inferno's honour when he is discharged from medbay, because if they interrupted the tradition now, they risked revealing his secret.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

It's so funny. I don't really know country music, but I wanted Inferno to have a favourite band, and Blue Rodeo was the only one I could think of, and when I looked up their songs I found so many that apply to situations in this story. Talk about synchronicity.

Party

Inferno stared around the room, trying hard to pretend he wanted to be there, that he wasn't only here because Jazz had told him that if they didn't have a party for his release from medbay it would only increase the gossip. Somehow he had feigned his normal, cheerful self as bot after bot had come up to wish him a speedy recovery and express their relief that he was back safe and sound, but it wore on him more than he cared to admit. And now he sat, nursing the single cube of highgrade that Ratchet had permitted him, wishing for more so he could indulge in the only comfortable sensation he was currently capable of: numbness.

Red Alert patted his arm, looking at him worriedly. The security director had come to the party without a single word of complaint, despite looking as uncomfortable as Inferno felt. "Just a little longer," he whispered, words that Inferno would typically say to him on such occasions. "Just a little longer, then we can go."

The speedy dance song that Jazz had been playing began to wind down, and the black and white mech addressed the crowd. "As you all know, this party is a celebration of our good buddy Inferno, who darin'ly rescued Red Alert an' himself from the Decepticons. An' today he made an even more important escape – from medbay!" The audience laughed and cheered. "In honour of this special event our talented, charmin', an' gracious CMO has generously allowed Inferno ta have one dance tonight, as long as it's a slow one, so here it is, a special song dedicated to our awesome fire-dude – well one of our awesome fire-dudes -" he gave a jaunty salute in Hot Spot's direction, "- an' his special someone..."

Inferno heard a familiar refrain start up, it was Blue Rodeo's song "Bulletproof". The large red mech looked at Jazz in horror. _Ya didn't, oh Primus, ya didn't.._.

Jazz saw the look and gave an unapologetically cheerful wave in response.

_Tell me one more time again  
Just like I didn't hear you  
Like I don't know whats going through your mind, I do  
I play the same game too  
You know its hard to stop  
Even when you want to_

When Inferno didn't immediately claim Red as he would have usually, a chant was taken up from the watching Autobots. "Dance! Dance! Dance!"

Red Alert looked at him guilelessly, darting a quick message through his communication array. :_I had nothing to do with this, Inferno, I swear._:

Inferno glared towards their DJ. _:I know, this has Jazz's name all over it.:_

Jazz commed the pair in turn. :_Ya know if ya don't dance they're gonna start talkin' more_.:

Sighing, Inferno stood up and offered his hand to Red Alert, who rose and allowed himself to be guided to the centre of the dance floor, immediately throwing his arms around Inferno's midsection, clinging to him as tightly as he could. A cheer rose from the assembled Autobots at seeing their normally reserved security director being so demonstrative.

:_What are ya doin'?_: Inferno commed Red. :_Ya don't normally do that, it looks strange, people are gonna know!_: He then did something he never thought he would ever do in a million vorns, he tried to extricate himself a little from Red's embrace, to bring it back to the level of propriety that his lover usually exhibited.

Red remained attached as tenaciously as a scraplet infection. :_They're not going to guess just because I'm being a little friendly. Besides, they know you were seriously hurt, maybe they'll think I got scared enough to realize that I didn't want to waste any more time worrying about what others think of our relationship. And you know what? I fragging well did! Let them stare_!:

_Now the moon lights up your face _

_And I can see you're crying _

_You never liked me to see you cry, it's true _

_I've done some crying too _

_You know the hardest part about it _

_Is trying to hide it from you_

Jazz had picked masterfully, the song was not only from Inferno's favourite group, but so appropriate to the situation that if the band were in front of Inferno at this moment he would have stomped their instruments into splinters in spite of his admiration. But there was no band present, only an audience of watchful optics, and the mech that he loved.

It was either comply, or create a scene, so Inferno did the former, unconsciously pulling Red more tightly against him, resting his head against Red's helmet, as he realized the futility of resisting. He had thought he would have trouble being close, had been afraid to try, except for those initial, shocked moments immediately after the rape, when they had finally been reunited. It surprised him how natural it still felt to have Red in his arms, natural and safe. "Who are ya?" he whispered, as they rotated so slowly that they were barely moving. "An' what've ya done with Red?"

_It would be great to be so strong  
Never needing anybody else to get along  
But we're so scared of the silence and the tricks that we use  
Oh we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
I don't want to lie about it  
I'm not bulletproof_

"Given him a swift kick in the aft," Red Alert whispered back, voice slightly tremulous as he nuzzled against Inferno's plating, hiding his face against the side of the larger mech's helmet hood.

_Well I finally found a way  
To hide from all your glances  
Til the waiting game we play is through  
I can, but whats the use  
When all I really want to do is hide out with you_

"Aww," Inferno murmured, voice taking on a teasing tone because he wasn't sure how else to take the comment. "Why'd ya do that? He didn't do nothin'."

"I know," Red answered, voice muffled, "that was the problem. I used you. I let you be my crutch, let you hold me up when I was weak, but I never gave anything back..."

_It would be great to be so strong  
Never needed anybody's help to get along  
We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use  
Oh we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
I don't want to kid about it  
I'm not bulletproof_

"That ain't true," Inferno said quietly, sad to see Red talking about himself so disparagingly when he didn't see any reason for it. "Just havin' ya around, wantin' ta be with me, that was all I needed."

Red lifted his head from Inferno's shoulder, looking straight into Inferno's optics, his own suspiciously shimmering. "Is that still the only thing you need?"

Inferno didn't want to think about what he needed, afraid he might need more than Red could give, afraid to ask in case his fears proved true. He didn't answer, just squeezed the red and white body further against his own, wishing he could somehow absorb the other mech into himself, so that despite their mutual weaknesses maybe they could be strong. But the only way to do that would be bonding, and that was no longer a possibility for him. What if bonding didn't help? What if, even shared, the pain was still too much? It was a risk he couldn't take.

The music continued to play through a wordless interlude, then Red Alert did something surprising. As the voice of the lead singer began to sing once again, he joined in with the song - his voice was wavery, and a little frail, but his pitch was true; it was the most beautiful thing Inferno had ever heard.

_"Tell me one more time again  
Well I guess I didn't hear you  
And I don't know all the secrets that you keep inside  
I tried the same thing too  
But they all come pouring out of me when I'm talking to you"_

Astonished and touched, Inferno did the only thing he could think of, adding his voice to Red's and crooning the melody he knew so well.

___"Well it would be great to be so strong  
Never needing anybody else's help to carry on  
But I'm not waking up each morning with forgiveness I can use  
Oh I'm careless, and I'm cruel, but I'm still easily bruised_

I'm so tired of lying about it  
I'm not bulletproof  
Oh and I'm not going to lie about it  
I'm not bulletproof "

When the song finished, they were still staring into each others' optics, both sets tellingly damp, then Inferno found himself leaning down, kissing Red desperately, shedding helpless tears of cleaning fluid that rained down onto his lover's white faceplates, mingling with the rivulets that were already winding their way over the pale cheeks. Everything hurt so much! He hurt at the thought of leaving Red Alert, he hurt at the thought of staying, and he hurt every moment that he wasn't enfolded in the gentle red and white arms, despite the fact that he tried to act as if he didn't.

After long moments their lip components parted, and Red was guiding him towards the exit. He followed in a daze, expecting panic because he had lost control in front of everyone, and finding only a resignation which surprised him.

When they had made their way out of the rec room, and into one of the empty hallways leading to their quarters, Inferno stopped, turning to Red. "I... I can't do it. I can't keep this a secret no more," he whispered. "Tomorrow, I'm gonna tell Optimus that he can tell 'em... tell 'em what happened." He pressed his hands against his optics, trying to stem the flow of liquid from them, but they just wouldn't cooperate.

Red gently coaxed Inferno's hands away, and stood on tiptoe to kiss Inferno's damp faceplates. "We'll get through this together," he promised, in a voice firmer than the fire engine had ever heard before, and for just a moment, Inferno felt hope that it might be true.


	19. Discovery

**Title:** Immolation (part 19/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Discovery"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1771

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Optimus. Prowl. Blaster. Jazz. Mentions of Rewind and Eject. OC news reporters.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Mentions of Rape.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****The Decepticons release the recording of Inferno's ordeal to the media; let the re-victimization commence.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Discovery

_:Uh Optimus...?:_ Blaster's normally cheerful voice sounded agitated as it came through his internal comm system.

:_Go ahead, Blaster._: The Autobot leader put down the stylus he was using to sign various data pads filled with reports in order to focus his full attention on his communications officer.

:_Ya better tune in to SHOX news right away_. :

Optimus massaged the sides of his helm. :_Blaster, I'm very busy, I'm sure I can read whatever it is when you submit your media watch report -_ :

:_I wouldn't advise that, boss,_: the stereo mech interrupted. :_It involves that big secret about Inferno that no one is supposed to know about, including me._:

The red and blue mech felt his tanks plummet into his feet, a seldom used curse escaping him before he could stop it. :_Slag! Have you informed -_ :

:_Prowl 'n Jazz are already tuned in as we speak, I took the liberty of also informin' Red Alert, so he can keep Inferno out of the way until ya can get on top o' this thing._:

:_Thank you, Blaster._: The sentiment was spark-felt as he experienced a brief moment of gratitude for having a team that could pull together quickly in a crisis.

Bracing himself, Optimus accessed the broadcasting frequency for the news station on his office view screen.

A woman's voice was already speaking. "...footage has been heavily censored, but is still graphic and extremely disturbing, children or sensitive viewers should leave the room immediately."

The recording showed head and shoulders only, but it was still plain what was going on. Motormaster leered viciously over a read shoulder, while Inferno had his face turned to the side, unknowingly facing the hidden camera, his broken weeping barely audible above the almost industrial sounding clatter of frame against frame.

"The victim is the Autobot known as Inferno, who transforms into a red fire engine. Inferno was one of a group of Autobots, specialized in search and rescue, who offered valuable assistance and service at Ground Zero after the 9/11 terrorist attacks." The screen mercifully cut from the terrible scene to display instead the almost iconic photograph that had appeared in Time Magazine, showing Inferno, nearly black with soot and ash, scooping a group of injured fire fighters out of a tenth story window, not long before the collapse of the second tower. The photo was inset with cleaner publicity photos of Inferno in both bipedal and altmode taken from the official Web site.

The news anchor, a sober looking dark skinned woman, appeared on the screen. "We go live now to Mount Saint Hilary, Oregon, where our Portland correspondent, Michelle Chevalier, is on the scene. Michelle, are you there? Michelle?" The anchor tapped her ear piece. "It appears our camera crew is having some technical difficulties, so we've got Michelle here via cellular phone. Michelle? Can you hear me?"

"Yes Tanya." The cellphone transmission was extremely staticky and Optimus suspected he knew why. "We appear to be having some technical difficulties with our camera equipment, which was working fine until the Autobots' media relations officer, Blaster, emerged from the Ark. The following footage was recorded before our cameras started acting up."

Blaster stood, hands on his hips, glaring down disapprovingly at the news crew. "No comment."

"It's seems that the Autobots are just as surprised by the release of this footage as we are," Michelle explained. "When we arrived there were guards posted, but things seemed quiet, then, as this news segment began several more 'mechs' came running into view, taking up additional guard positions, followed by Blaster who spoke to us, after which the cameras stopped working. Our cellphone access was also interrupted and we had to drive out of the immediate area of the Ark in order to make contact with you. At this point we can only wait and see if any new information will be forthcoming. Interestingly, now that we have left the vicinity of Mount Saint Hillary, all our equipment is working perfectly."

"Interesting indeed. Thank you, Michelle," said the news anchor before addressing the viewers. "Please stay tuned for updates on this tragic story as they become available. And now for a look at sports, here's..." Optimus shut off the screen and rubbed at his optics wearily.

"Optimus, it's me an' Prowl," Jazz's voice came through the wall intercom.

"Come in," Optimus intoned, seeing his second and third command come into the room. "Status?"

"Blaster took care o' things admirably," Jazz said. "He had the idea o' doin' what he did an' I okayed it. I figured it would buy us some time."

"Agreed," said Optimus. "Prowl?"

"There was a 94.3725% chance of the Decepticons forcing the news to come out, so I already have a few suggestions as to how we might proceed," the tactician replied. "The news media involvement I hadn't anticipated, however. It was well-played, completely abhorrent, but well-played. Now we must come up with plans to deal with both our colleagues, and the news media.

On a related note, Red Alert has been comming me almost since the broadcast started, demanding we file an injunction against the media outlets in order to suppress the footage, or else sue SHOX News on Inferno's behalf for broadcasting such sensitive information.

I consulted with Blaster, as our media relations expert, and he alerted me to something called the 'Streisand Effect' in Earth parlance. It is a phenomenon by which any effort to suppress information often results in it being much more widely publicized than if nothing were done. He's trying to explain the concept to Red as we speak, in between monitoring for any other stations picking up the story. So far there are none, and I suspect it is because Swindle may have arranged the sale of the story as an exclusive to SHOX."

"Slaggin' great," Jazz muttered. "So not only are the 'Cons airin' our dirty laundry in public, but they made 'emselves a tidy profit out of it, too!"

Optimus was privately quite furious himself, but he forced his voice to remain calm and even."So what suggestions to do you have, Prowl?"

The door-winged mech unsubspaced a data pad. "First, someone, preferably you, Optimus, must address the troops and explain to them why this information was kept from them. I suggest focusing on issues of privacy, and the desire to prevent re-victimization if possible. Assure them that we have been working behind the scenes to prevent other mechs from being similarly... harmed – which is entirely true, as I have been running several scenarios. Unfortunately I have not come up with anything yet, but that particular information does not need to be generally dissimulated.

Secondly, someone must address the media. I think we can trust Blaster to make comments for us, and I have already set him to drafting a prepared statement, urging the media to respect Inferno's privacy, decrying the Decepticons for their underhanded tactic, and placing our full support behind Inferno during this difficult time. The document will be forwarded to each of us for feedback so we can make any edits or suggestions before it is presented to the public.

Thirdly, Blaster will be briefing everyone on how to respond to media queries, which is pretty much our standard response anyway: all media requests for interviews, comments and such, are to be routed through Blaster. Rewind and Eject are handling e-mail queries as per our usual procedure, although I suspect our volume of e-mail is going to increase very soon."

"Very good, Prowl, your initiative in this matter is valuable as always." Optimus turned to the smaller black and white mech. "Jazz, as our unofficial morale officer, and a mech who has his finger on the 'social spark-pulse' of the Ark, as you once so aptly put it, I will need you to listen carefully to what our comrades are saying, and to underline our position and stifle any rumours that come up with fact."

"Ya can count on me, Optimus!" Jazz said, smartly.

"I have one more suggestion, if I may," Prowl said.

"Go ahead."

"While litigation for the purpose of suppressing the video footage of Inferno's ordeal may backfire, the judicial system may yet serve us in a different way," Prowl began. "While the material on the video is naturally extremely sensitive, it could also contain valuable tactical information, such as the numbers and strength of the Decepticon contingent on Earth. I recommend we take SHOX News to court to obtain our own copy of the footage."

Jazz stared at Prowl for a moment in abjectly horrified astonishment. "'Valuable tactical information'?" he echoed. "Is that all this situation is to ya? Raw data ya can analyze? Don't ya care that a mech was fraggin' raped to within a micron of his slaggin' life?"

"Jazz, please calm down," Optimus held up his hands.

"Of course I care," Prowl appeared unfazed by Jazz's outburst. "That is why I am not simply proposing we consign the footage to oblivion, but instead use it to benefit our people, and possibly save lives. It will in no way justify Inferno's suffering, but it will at least give it some meaning."

"Well I ain't watchin' it!" Jazz snarled.

"I wasn't suggesting you do," said Prowl, still radiating that sometimes terrifying composure of his. "I can watch it with my battle computer engaged in order to override my emotional responses, note the Decepticons participating and any potentially useful conversations."

"Red did already make a report to us of everything he heard," Optimus pointed out.

"I mean no disrespect to Red Alert," Prowl said, "but he was under extreme emotional duress at the time, he could have missed details that might have value if they were known."

"Very well," Optimus said. "I authorize you to contact our attorney and have her try to obtain a copy of the footage. Jazz, you go out and try to calm everyone down, and above all, tell them not to contact Inferno, he must be upset enough already. And I will prepare to address our comrades. Dismissed."

Jazz and Prowl left, each to their own tasks, and Optimus returned to his desk, settling heavily into his desk chair. He cradled his head in his hands for a moment before picking up a stylus and a fresh data pad and beginning to write.


	20. Denial

**Title:** Immolation (Part 20/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Denial"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 535

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Mention of OC news reporters. Unnamed Autobots.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Mentions of Rape.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Inferno regrets trying to deny what happened to him by keeping it a secret, especially now that the entire world would shortly know.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Yay, 20% done!

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Denial

Why couldn't everything have been this simple? A gentle crimp of Red Alert's main energon lines, just enough for him to lose consciousness, a quick jamming of the washrack's access panel, sealing his lover inside, a well placed call telling the media gathered like sharkticons outside the Ark that he would give a tell all press conference in Portland, a momentary distraction allowing him to sneak by the posted guards... and he was free!

Inferno scrambled through the mountains, uncaring of Ratchet's medical instructions that exhorted him to lie still and rest. He was looking for a cave or shelter that would sufficiently hide both him, and his spark signature, and finally found a spot underneath an overhang and protected by a huge outcropping of rock. From here he would be hidden from aerial search parties, and had a good view of anyone approaching long before they would see him.

The panicked fire engine finally slumped against the mountainside, shuttering his optics and placing his hands over his audios, rocking back and forth in agitation – he had shut off his comm system, but they were still ringing with the frantic and horrified messages from his fellow Autobots.

"Sweet Primus' lugnuts, Inferno - why didn't ya say somethin'?"

"Ihadnoideayouwentthroughthat,.I' '..."

"Those filthy Decepticon fraggers! We'll get them for you, every last one of them!"

"That... That was how you saved Red, wasn't it? By letting them... Oh Inferno, I'm so sorry..."

"I know I never would have let them do that to me! I would have kicked their sorry afts!"

"How could you let them do that to you? There must have been another way!"

"Why didn't you tell us, Inferno? I thought we were your friends."

Inferno muted his vocalizer, screaming silently into the encroaching night, cursing himself for his cowardice. He had vowed last night after the party to authorize Optimus to tell the others what had happened, but as the day wore on he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it, putting it off for a groon, and then another and another. And now he reaped the rewards his hesitancy had netted him. It was no more than he deserved for being selfish, for trying to pretend that everything was normal, that he hadn't been horribly violated and ruined forever.

Now everyone knew, and not just everyone aboard the Ark, or all the Autobots on Earth. Everyone. On the whole planet. And anyone who, by some miracle, still remained ignorant would not stay that way for long.

His fist slammed into the rock face, sending a crack up its surface. How was he supposed to go back to the Ark now? How was he supposed to go anywhere? The Autobots as a whole were world famous, true, but he had just been handed his own very personal and very unwanted claim to fame. He would no longer be just an Autobot, or one of the Autobots who helped out during the September 11th terrorist attacks, he would now be known forever as "the Autobot who got raped."

He had thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse.

He had been wrong.


	21. Missing

**Title:** Immolation (part 21/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Missing"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 703

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Optimus Prime. Prowl. Blaster. Jazz. Teletraan 1.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Mentions of Rape.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Red Alert wakes up locked in his private washroom, finding that Inferno is gone. He's not happy.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Missing

Red Alert returned to consciousness abruptly, sitting up in panic. "Inferno! What are you doing?" he croaked, placing a hand over his throat in shock at how horrible his voice sounded. A frantic scan of the washracks told him Inferno was not around, so he staggered unsteadily to his feet, going to the door and pressing the button to open it.

It didn't budge.

"Frag!" he cursed., anxiety rising. There was only one reason he could think of for Inferno to knock him out and lock him in the washracks. He sent the codes for remote access of Teletraan 1. :_Teletraan, location of Inferno._:

:_Inferno is not aboard the Ark._:

Suddenly there was a dent in the wall next to the locking pad, and his fist ached. He needed to do something! Call Prowl? Prowl had all the codes to all the doors on the Ark, but the washracks door didn't look from the outside, which meant Inferno had shorted it, which meant that all the codes in the world wouldn't make the door comply.

Unsubspacing his weapon, Red Alert fired at the door pad, then manually pried the door open.

What to do now? He checked his chronometer, confirming that he had been offline for two groons, which meant Inferno could be anywhere by now!

He had to tell someone, had to organize a search party!

Red Alert sprinted from his quarters, so distressed that he didn't even bother to lock the door after himself.

He ran for Optimus' office, pausing along the way to interrogate every mech he saw, waving aside their questions and sympathetic professions, his processor focused on only one thing: to find Inferno.

Finally arrived at his leader's office he punched in the override code and barged in, uncaring of social niceties. Jazz, Prowl, Optimus and Blaster stared at him with wide optics from where they sat around a table, clearly having a meeting.

"Inferno is missing!" he blurted. "He knocked me out and locked me in my washracks and Teletran says he's no longer aboard the Ark and no one has seen him, and - " He was cut off by a piercing pain lancing through his processor. _Oh Primus, please not now!_ Realistically he knew he had been lucky not to have an attack sooner considering what he had been through, but it did nothing to console him.

"Red Alert," Optimus began in that soothing, placating tone that everyone but Inferno seemed to adopt when dealing with one of his episodes, "that may be the case, but you will not help him by letting yourself get into such a state."

"State, what state? He's my partner - my recently raped and brutalized partner - who has been medically certified as a suicide risk! And now on top of that the media decides to fragging do a special news segment about it?" The security director inwardly cringed at his outburst, already feeling his control beginning to slip. "What kind of state should I be in?" His processor ache sharpened, but he struggled to retrieve the impression of calm.

"Please Optimus, we need to send out search parties, we need to find him! He could be trying to end his life at this very moment! The Decepticons could find him and decide to give him a repeat performance! The media could find him and harass him until he does something des -" His next words were lost as a sudden stabbing pain through his cranium made his tanks heave, and he barely made it to the wastebasket before purging violently.

The chorus of several chairs being pushed back suddenly as his comrades rose to help, amplified by his sensitive hearing, only made the pain worse. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he waved them back.

"I'm calling Ratchet," Optimus said.

"Please do something! Why aren't you doing something? Do you want him to die? Would that be easier for you?" Blue electricity flared over his helm, accompanied by the tang of ozone so cloyingly strong to his enhanced olfactory sensors that he couldn't help purging again. "Inferno...!"

The miasma of pain and delusion overtook him.


	22. Shattered

**Title:** Immolation (part 22/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Shattered"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 520

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** None.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to rape. Suicide attempts.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Inferno believes that there is only one solution left to him; a final solution.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Shatttered

Inferno's spark huddled in his spark chamber, mirroring the outer appearance of the fire engine, crouched against the mountain, trying desperately not to think or feel. There was no blessed numbness to be had, however, no emotional anaesthesia. Instead, his processor spun around and around searching for solutions, searching for hope, searching for escape from the pain that seemed inescapable, stretching out before him forever like an endless, barren highway.

There was nothing, there was nothing left. Even Red Alert's love, which in those dark groons aboard the Nemesis shone before him like the last, brilliant star in a dying galaxy; even that had gone out. He still loved the other mech, but the emotion that had once sustained him was now fragile, fragmented, slipping through his fingers, insubstantial as dust.

The Decepticons had destroyed him utterly, they had merely forgotten that his body still soldiered on in some parody of existence or, more likely, they lacked the compassion to finish what they started.

There was only one person left who could end this.

He brought his gun attachment up, settling it under his chin, and shuttered his optics, activating the subroutine to fire...

...and a shower of flame retardant foam spattered his face, getting into his mouth, his optics and up his olfactory sensor.

Choking and sputtering, gagging at the revolting taste assaulting his chemo-receptors, he cursed the universe that would let him have no more dignity in death than it did in life, aiming one last kick at a mech who was down. He tried again, but a message appeared in his HUD telling him all his weaponry had been disabled.

He swiped the foam away from his optics, which were burning from more than the foam, and rummaged through his subspace pocket, finding it as empty as the day the Decepticons had emptied it after he and Red had been captured.

Next he opened his chest, trying to rip out his spark-chamber, but his hands were far too large and clumsy to reach into the confined space.

Hysterical, silent laughter burbled up from his still muted vocalizer – so pathetic was he that he couldn't even make a proper end to his own life.

Becoming increasingly desperate with wanting to effect some sort of damage, he brought both his fists together and smashed through his windshield, which Ratchet had replaced only a few days before. There was only faint satisfaction in watching the glittering shards burst forth, only minor inconvenience in the small pieces that slipped into his inner workings, grinding and itching whenever he moved.

It did, however, give him a terrible and welcome idea. He reached into his cab, grabbing onto his dashboard, and yanked it, and everything attached to it, out with one frantically vicious tug, screaming a noiseless scream of anguish and defiance, the physical pain only a dim echo of the emotional agony coursing through him.

Inferno stared at the dripping, sparking mess in his hand grimly for a moment before tossing it aside like worthless scrap. If couldn't get to his spark chamber directly, there was always the scenic route.


	23. Lies

**Title:** Immolation (Part 23/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Lies"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AUish)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 623

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Optimus. Prowl. Jazz. Blaster. Cliffjumper. Mentions of Hound and Blades.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to rape.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Optimus' attempt to address the Autobots regarding the truth of what happened to Inferno is interrupted by a Decepticon attack.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Lies

Optimus stood in front of the assembled Autobots, looking at their faces, seeing anger, fear, worry, horror, and countless other emotions in response to the lies they had been told. If one wanted to quibble, they hadn't exactly been lied to, only had certain specific details omitted, but as far as the Autobot leader was concerned, that qualified as a falsehood.

Jazz and Prowl arrived, taking up their places at his side. Jazz leaned in quickly to whisper. "Hound says he found a trail leadin' away from the Ark, but other than that has nothin' ta report."

"And Red Alert?" Optimus asked.

"In medbay, restrained an' fritzin' up a storm under Ratchet's watchful optics. He says he's never seen Red go on this long, but that despite how long it's lastin' Red should be just fine once it's over."

"That's good news," said Optimus, feeling his spark ease a small amount to know that Red Alert, at least, was going to be fine. The knowledge that Inferno still hadn't been found, however, filled him with deep and aching concern. He should have been more persuasive, maybe even never offered Inferno the opportunity to make the decision in the first place. If the fire engine had awoken to find the knowledge was already dissimulated, he would have been angry and upset, but perhaps he wouldn't have felt quite so overwhelmed after the shocking media broadcast, having to deal with the sudden revelation both to his teammates, and the world.

"I guess I should get things started," he said, and raised his hands for quiet. "Autobots, in light of what has been revealed to you by the media, I imagine you are shocked and filled with many questions - "

"Optimus!" Blaster interrupted. "There's a transmission coming in from the humans, Megatron and his forces are attackin' the Riverview power plant!"

A murmur rose through the audience.

"Serves the humans right for doing that to Inferno!"

"No, the 'Cons need to be stopped!"

"Prime," Prowl whispered. "This could be a trap."

"I know, Prowl, but trap or not, we can't abandon our allies because a few of them made a mistake."

Optimus raised his hands for quiet again. "Autobots, I know many of you are angry and confused, but what you need to consider is this: the Decepticons released this footage deliberately at this time, to undermine our solidarity, hoping that we would be too demoralized to stand against them as they attack our allies.

I ask you to put aside your questions for now, all will be answered after the battle, but while you are fighting remember this: Inferno is a mech who has proved time and time again that he would literally walk through fire in the service of others, and he made an incredibly courageous decision to walk through fire in a figurative sense to spare Red Alert. And though what happened to him was unconscionable, and though the decision to endure such intensely personal torment cost him far more than any of us will ever be able to imagine, the terrible reality of his experiences do not in any way deter from the outright heroism of the act.

Today I'm asking you to walk through fire, the fire of battle, to defend our cause and our belief that freedom is the right of all sentient beings. And I know if all of you are even half as brave, as valiant as Inferno, you will be very brave indeed."

"For Inferno!" Cliffjumper shouted, raising a small crimson fist in the air.

"For Inferno!" the Autobots roared back.

"Transform and roll out," said Optimus, quietly.


	24. Lost

**Title:** Immolation (Part 24/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Lost"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 800

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ratchet.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Mentions of suicide.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Red Alert wakes up in medbay.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Regarding my posting schedule, for the next little while I will be cutting down posting to Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings before 10pm EST. My muse has lost a bit of steam, so rather than forcing myself to continue at a gruelling pace until I give up completely, I'm going to take things a bit slower so that I can hopefully carry on.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Lost

He came to awareness staring at the medbay ceiling, though it took him some moments before his processor managed to sluggishly decipher what he was looking at, and that, coupled with the fact that his efforts to rise were met with insurmountable resistance made him groan as he realized what must have happened.

Ratchet's face appeared in his field of vision, optics worried beneath the black crescent of his chevron. "How are you doing there, Red?" the medic asked.

"Awful," the security director replied. It felt like someone had replaced his CPU with a Commodore Vic 20 and then had spilled coffee all over the primitive twentieth century excuse for a human-designed computer. But amidst the confusion of his systems trying to recover from his most recent episode, one priority was still startlingly clear. "Inferno?"

"Optimus sent Blades and Hound out to look for him after you barged into his office and accused everyone of wanting Inferno dead. Hound picked up a trail leading from the Ark, but we haven't heard anything else yet."

"He attacked me..." Red Alert cringed as the memory resurfaced, his feelings of hurt at Inferno's actions towards him quickly transmuting to worry as the reason for his lover's behaviour became clear. "...knocked me out... Only one reason for him to run away like that..."

"Yes, because he was overwhelmed and confused," Ratchet stated calmly. "It doesn't automatically mean he was..."

"Looking for an out of the way place to commit suicide?" The Lamborghini almost keened the words, fear overwhelming him.

It was Ratchet's turn to cringe. "Now Red, you know I disabled all his weapon systems, and I personally inspected his subspace storage to make sure there wasn't anything in there he could use – not that it was necessary, the 'Cons cleared it out completely when you were captured anyway."

"If he wanted to die badly enough, he could still find a way," Red Alert whimpered, feeling his processor begin to throb once again.

"Try to stay calm, Red," Ratchet instructed, placing his hands on Red Alert's shoulders "You know it won't help you or Inferno if you get yourself all worked up again."

He had almost forgotten his episode amidst the worry for his lover, but now he thought to ask about it, if only to distract himself and hopefully prevent it from happening again. "How long was I...?"

"Four groons," the red and white medic answered. "I'm actually surprised you lasted this long considering what you've already been through."

"Do you think you could undo these restraints?" Red Alert asked. Normally the length of time he had spent under the influence of his particular medical problem would concern him more, and it had been an unusually long time, but there were other more important things that needed dealing with. "I need to be ready for when they bring Inferno back, he's going to need me." _If he's still alive. _He didn't say the last part out loud, but it chilled his circuits nonetheless.

The CMO gave him an admonishing look. "Only if you don't exert yourself too much. You know you need lots of rest after you've had a bad episode." He unfastened the restraints and Red Alert sat up, ignoring the muzzy feeling in his processor.

"I should have known he would do this," he lamented. "I should have been focused entirely on him, and not on having the footage suppressed and Primus knows what else."

"You were doing what you thought would help him," Ratchet countered.

He continued to berate himself, not heeding the other mech's words. "But I should have known! Desperate mechs do desperate things! If it had been any other mech I would have..."

Ratchet placed a hand on Red Alert's arm. "But it wasn't someone else. It was Inferno. We all can be forgiven for having blind spots when it comes to our loved ones."

"But if I had been prepared he would still be here! Not lost in the wilderness somewhere doing Primus knows what to himself!" The security director tried to get off the berth, only to have his knee joints buckle.

The medic was instantly beside him, supporting him and helping him back onto the berth. "Easy there, Red, take your time." He gave the other mech a firm look. "Inferno is going to be alright."

"Why are you bothering to say that to me of all people?" Red Alert asked, shaking his head. "You know that until I see it for myself I could never believe you."

"Maybe not," said Ratchet, "but I think you still need to hear it."


	25. Found

**Title:** Immolation (Part 25/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Found"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 587

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Blades. Hound. Mention of Skyfire.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Discussion of suicide.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Blades and Hound locate Inferno.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Posting this a bit early today because I feel very, very sad and need some love.

A little note for those traumatized by my in your face approach to a horrifying and painful subject: I think I just got my comeuppance. In spades. I discovered a fic called Poison, by outerelf on here, fanfiction dot net . It was a short, concise fic, and yet the concept and the way it was created was so brilliantly powerful that it made me cry and caused me to be physically ill. This is not meant as disparagement to the author, but rather as a profound compliment to the impact of her work, and the fact that several of my major personal horror buttons got pushed by the story.

Be warned: if you love Red Alert and Inferno, reading it will probably hurt a lot more than reading this fic did, at least in my opinion, since there is **major character death.** Of course your mileage may vary. *goes off to sob uncontrollably in a corner while you all point and laugh at the wicked, evil fanfic writer who can't take a dose of her own medicine*

Someone please post lots of filthy (gentle, loving, but perhaps slightly kinky?) smut to cheer me up? Primus knows this fic of mine won't be having any for a while.

Also, re: posting schedule. As this is Canadian Thanksgiving weekend (big hello to all you TF fans in the Great White North celebrating with me!) I may be making merry enough that I will be unable to post Monday's part. If so, look for your next regularly scheduled update on Wednesday.

(And yay, one quarter done. *waves a sad little flag and then goes back to crying*)

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 planetary year.

Found

:_See anything yet, Blades?:_ Hound commed his aerial support. They had been searching the mountains for groons with no sign of Inferno, the trail the scout had picked up leaving the Ark having erased itself amidst the gravel strewn terrain. Each time he thought he had a lead, it turned out to be nothing but random patterns that had fooled even his advanced tracking algorithms.

_:No,: _the helicopter grumbled. _:I don't see why you need me anyway, there are so many places around here Inferno could hide in, he's probably holed up in one of those so I wouldn't see him from the air anyway. I should be at the power station with the others!:_

Hound cast his optics skyward, as much to search for the red and white chopper as to implore Primus for more patience, still amazed after all these solar cycles just how ferocious and combat-driven Blades was compared to his more nurturing siblings. _ :Well, I still outrank you,: _he remarked mildly, refusing to be provoked, _:so unless we get orders from someone who outranks both of us, you're staying here and helping me search.: _

_:Feh.:_ Blades replied. _:Skyfire would have been a better choice, neither of us will be able to haul Inferno's huge aft out of here anyway, assuming he doesn't try something like he did with Red Alert.:_

_:Assuming he's in any shape to try something,:_ the tracker countered, worriedly, continuing to pick his way amidst boulders and rock formations. He was grateful at least that a mech with Inferno's big, bulky frame would not be agile enough to climb very high, and he would be even less coordinated in as distraught a state as his hurried, scrambling trail away from the Ark had indicated his was.. _:Besides, Skyfire uses too much fuel and moves too quickly to be effective at searching in this kind of terrain. He's on standby though. As soon as we find Inferno, he'll come pick us up.:_ The jeep hoped that the fire truck had just run off to be alone somewhere, and could return home under his own power, but considering the kind of mech Inferno was, and the horrible ordeal he had been through, he very much feared otherwise.

The green mech was still reeling, as the rest of the Autobots were, from the shock of what had been revealed by the news broadcast, and what had happened to their seemingly tough, indestructible friend. Not that violence was unexpected from the Decepticons, but typically it had always been the more impersonal, casual type - if beatings and torture could be called that. The intensely personal horror that had happened to Inferno – not just violence, but violation – was a new and very disturbing development indeed.

Just then, the wind shifted, bringing an enlightening, yet at the same time highly unwelcome odour to his olfactory sensors: that of processed energon, and various other elements of Cybertronian origin. It was the scent of the gruesome aftermath of a battle, of shredded metal and silicone, smouldering circuitry, spilled fluids, sparking wires and strewn internals.

It was the smell of death.

"Primus, no!" he whispered, processor already conjuring up the terrible result of what he feared, the greyed corpse, Red Alert's devastation - the fragile mech joining Inferno in death despite their lack of a spark bond, following the fire engine's terrible example and deactivating himself rather than enduring the weight of eternity without his beloved protector.

_:Blades!:_ he almost screamed through the comm. _:Head east!:_


	26. Home

**Title:** Immolation (Part 26/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Home"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 767

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Blades. First Aid. Hound. Ironhide. Ratchet. Skyfire. Unnamed OC reporters.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Mentions of suicide.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Inferno is brought home to a media circus.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Home

The rain was coming down in sheets as Skyfire came in for a landing, Ratchet and First Aid already on the tarmac, armed with a stretcher.

The huge jet landed, and opened his cargo bay doors, and the two medics went inside, emerging with their heavy burden which they carried carefully towards the Ark, Hound and Blades following.

"Me and Blades stopped all the leaks we could," Hound said, updating Ratchet as they went, but there are some further inside that I couldn't get to.

"You did well," Ratchet said distractedly, focused on carrying the stretcher as they approached the Ark, and the throng of reporters still gathered outside.

As the group of Transformers drew closer to the reporters, the media representatives began bombarding them with intrusive questions, all of which were stoically ignored.

"What happened?"

"Was he injured from the battle?"

"When will he be ready to hold the press conference he announced?"

"Is it right to allow someone who has been through that kind of trauma back into combat so soon?"

"Is that damage self-inflicted?" 

"Do you think he was affected by the news broadcast and motivated to make an attempt on his own life?"

"What is his expected prognosis?"

"His condition is none of your Primus-damned business, but _your_ expected prognosis is to melt into little puddles of organic SOUP!" Ratchet snapped at the circling reporters, no longer able to keep silent, not when his patience, which was thin under the best of circumstances, had gone AWOL sometime in the previous week. "I would have thought that after twenty six YEARS of us being on your planet you would be familiar with the dangers of loitering around injured Cybertronians. Do you know what this purple stuff is?" he demanded, indicating the energon mixing with the rainwater and trailing down over the stretcher and its bearers.

"Cybertronian blood?" one brave reporter dared to offer.

"Yes, it is our equivalent of blood, but it's not nearly as harmless as yours, which can only transmit nasty blood-borne pathogens such as HIV and Hepatitis. As for this, picture lava and sulphuric acid mixed up, and then imagine getting it on your soft, sensitive, little hides! This area is DANGEROUS!"

Some, but not all, of the reporters gave them a little more space in response.

He turned his attention to the Streetwise, the interceptor having been placed in charge of crowd control by Prowl. "I thought you were ordered to secure the perimeter! You need to move these people back before their lack of self-preservation gets them all maimed, or worse!"

"INFERNO!" A red and white figure appeared at the Ark entrance and sprinted towards them, and Ratchet snarled louder.

_:Ironhide!:_ The elder ambulance knew exactly who to blame for the latest in what seemed to be a veritable cornucopia of mishaps befalling them today. _:Where the Pit are you? Didn't I tell you to keep Red Alert away from here? We need to get Inferno inside and stabilized!:_

_:Sorry, Ratchet,:_ the crimson van commed back, finally appearing at the Ark entrance as well. _:He didn't get ta be Security Director without bein' real cagey – he gave me the slip!:_

"Inferno!" Red Alert arrived alongside the stretcher, all but wailing in distress at seeing the horrible damage to his lover. "What have you done?"

"Red, please, we need to get Inferno inside," First Aid said in a soothing voice, trying to calm the alarmed Lamborghini despite having no hands with which to do so.

_:Well, 'slip' yourself out here and get a hold of Red Alert,:_ Ratchet snapped back at Ironhide. _:And while you're at it, order more bots to come hold back the media sharkticons and start cleaning up the spilled energon before some fleshling idiot pulls out their slagging rubber ducky and starts bathing in it! Does no one read the safety guidelines we send out with our slagging press kits?:_

Red Alert was clinging to one of Inferno's energon-stained hands and impeding their progress. "Inferno! Why?" Faintly thicker rivulets running down the security director's face marked where optic fluid mixed with the rain. "Why do this? Why did you bother sacrificing yourself to save me for if you were just planning on leaving me afterwards anyway?"

"Would somebody _please_ get him out of the way?" Ratchet exclaimed, frustrated to the point where drop-kicking and then stomping anything that came up lower than his thighs was starting to look like a feasible way of dealing with the chaos.

Hound moved to intercept the distraught Lamboarghini. "Come here, Red," he said, wrapping the other mech in strong, green arms. "We should let them get Inferno to medbay so they can start working on him."

Red Alert collapsed against the military jeep, sobbing in terror and anguish, and the grim cortege made its way into the Ark.


	27. Family

**Title:** Immolation (Part 27/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Family"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1159

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ratchet. Sparkplug.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to rape and suicide.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Sparkplug comes out of retirement to help Ratchet with some of the more delicate aspects of repairing Inferno after his suicide attempt.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

I'm guessing Sparkplug was 49 in 1984, which would make him 76 in 2010. Fortunately he hasn't gone rusty.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Family

"At least he didn't rip out his seats," Sparkplug quipped darkly, adjusting his glasses. The seventy-six year old human was stretched out on the soft foam in question, nestled within the compartment formed by the cab of Inferno's altmode, removing tiny bits of glass from the fire engine's delicate circuitry before his dashboard could be properly replaced.

"There isn't much else he didn't try to rip out," Ratchet answered with equal wryness. "If he hadn't by some miracle pulled out his motor control initiator and paralysed himself, you and I would be back together again under far worse circumstances."

"Yeah," Sparkplug agreed bluntly. "For a funeral. When the kid wakes up I'm going to have a little talk with him about that - the only funeral you guys are allowed to have around here is mine."

The CMO looked askance at the aged human. "Is there something you're trying to tell me, old friend?"

"Nah, I'm just being realistic. I might have gotten my cholesterol down, and this old ticker whipped back into shape," he tapped his chest. "But I'm not gonna live forever, it's just a fact of life. Spike doesn't like it when I talk that way either." He grunted, yanking out a particularly large shard and neatly wrapping electrical tape around a leaking cable that made itself known as a result.

"Anyway, how's everyone handling it? I know it just about floored me when I saw it on the news. I mean, I knew those filthy fucking Decepticons were no good, but something like this... And Inferno must have been hurt really badly. Why didn't you call me sooner, Ratchet?" He rolled over onto his stomach and glanced up at the red and white medic. "I know a long time ago I was a pig-headed fool when I said I didn't want to get involved with private parts, but if you needed my help, I would have been here, even for that."

"I know, Sparkplug," Ratchet replied, feeling touched by his old friend's words, especially considering how adamant the human had been about not being involved when it came to a Transformer's intimate areas, to the point that even his prized construction, Autobot X, had been without interfacing capabilities. "But there wasn't really much you could have done. There wasn't even much I could do..."

"Is he...?" Sparkplug waved his hand over his crotch in a cutting, cancelling out gesture, clearly not wanting to address such a delicate subject with his usual bluntness.

"Fortunately, no," Ratchet said, hoping he had interpreted the hand signals correctly. "He's going to be physically back to normal eventually. His self-repair systems are rebuilding all the nodes and sensors. A human in the same situation wouldn't have been half so lucky."

"So he'll have all his equipment in good working order, but the question is: will he ever want to use it again?" The silver haired man went back to picking out glass and placing it in a container, remaining silent for long moments. "It happened to a girlfriend of mine a long time ago. First she didn't want anything to do with sex, and suddenly her libido came back with a vengeance, all she wanted to do was screw, and when I couldn't keep up with her, she moved on. She didn't really seem to be enjoying it when we did it, it was almost like she was just doing it to prove she could..."

The red and white medic sighed. "It's hard to know how someone will react when something like this happens." He slammed his fist down on the berth where Inferno rested, rattling a tray of instruments. "Damn it, Sparkplug, he was... he was making progress. He and Red Alert actually _danced_ at the party Jazz had set up to celebrate him getting released from medbay. And Red Alert, rather than just tolerating Inferno's affection awkwardly like usual, grabbed him and clung to him, not letting him go... I thought, I mean, I knew Red must be very different in private – a mech as demonstrative as Inferno wouldn't have stayed with someone who was cold all the time - but I never thought I'd see it for myself."

"Love does strange things to a man," Sparkplug mused. "Or a mech."

"And of course the Decepticons had to go telling the whole world and ruining everything. I have no idea what's going to happen now. Inferno obviously needs serious help, but, while I do have counselling protocols installed, I'm not a specialist, and I'm afraid that might be exactly what Inferno needs."

"You could try bringing in a human counsellor," Sparkplug suggested.

"True," Ratchet said. "Their are some similarities in our psychological makeups but there are lots of reasons why that wouldn't be a good idea. Inferno has shown that he might be inclined to act violently as a result of his feelings, and I'm reluctant to put him in a room with someone he could squash without a second thought. Not that I believe he would do it on purpose, or out of malice, but accident or not, dead is still dead.

Plus, even though there are ways in which humans and Cybertronian's are similar, there are ways in which we are very different. There are treatments that Inferno may benefit from which humans have no way of duplicating. He really needs a Cybertronian counsellor, and I don't even know if there are any still living anymore."

"You'll come up with something, Ratchet," Sparkplug said, with way more confidence in Ratchet's abilities than the CMO currently felt himself. "You always do."

Just then the doors to medbay hissed open, admitting the nervous form of Red Alert. Now that the serious repairs had been completed, Ratchet permitted him to visit from time to time to check on Inferno's progress. "Good afternoon, Red. Right on time for your latest status update, I see," Ratchet remarked dryly.

The security director made his way over to Inferno's berth-side, peering anxiously into the cavity where Sparkplug continued to work industriously. "How is he doing?"

"I'm just picking out the last bits of glass and then I'm going to start putting his dashboard back," said Sparkplug, pausing in his work for a moment to look up at Red Alert with a kind smile. "How are you holding up?"

The Lamborghini seemed a bit taken aback by the question, pausing for a moment. "I... umm... as well as can be expected under the circumstances," he stammered. "I... I appreciate you coming to help with Inferno's repairs on such short notice."

"Hey, don't worry about it," Sparkplug said, returning to his work. "Like I was saying to Ratchet earlier, you guys are family, and this is what families do."


	28. Beginnings

**Title:** Immolation (Part 28/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Beginnings"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1021

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ratchet.

**Warnings:** Sticky.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****They thought Inferno's recovery had already begun, but in fact it hadn't even started yet.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Look up Torkulon on TF Wiki. It's a planet of psychiatric apes. Srsly.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Beginnings

Inferno was repaired once again to outwardly pristine condition, and fortunately the progress of his internal repairs had not been undone by his flight to the wilderness, though they had been delayed. Overall, even counting the grievous self-inflicted injuries, the physical setback had been minor compared to the emotional one the fire engine had suffered, both as a result of the interference of the human media, and his own unfortunate – though some would say understandable – reaction to it.

"We'll have to keep him here, Red," Ratchet told the other red and white mech standing nearby. "I don't know for how long. I've installed a tracking device, so we'll be able to find him again, if he should get out, but..."

"You should have installed the tracking device to begin with," Red Alert said. It was a rebuke that had been spoken with some heat previously, but now was only uttered as a tired reminder.

"I know," Ratchet agreed, "but Inferno's psychological profile has always been so stable, I guess I underestimated what he would do. In any case, it's the future we have to worry about. I want to keep him here under observation, with his motor relays disabled for a while yet until I can get a handle on his mental state. After that I would recommend he be kept in quarters, or even in protective custody in the brig if he continues to prove determined to harm himself..."

"And if that doesn't work?" Red Alert asked.

"We aren't equipped for long-term psychiatric care here, these are stop-gap solutions at best," Ratchet said. "If long-term care turns out to be what Inferno needs, there is one other solution, but you won't like it..."

Red Alert's hand tightened where it gripped the edges of Inferno's berth. "Torkulon."

"Advanced Cybertronian psychiatric knowledge is part of their portfolio, and for all I know they might be the last surviving repository of that information in existence." Ratchet didn't like the idea of sending one of their own to the distant psychiatric planet, but he realized that if Inferno needed care over a more extended period, it might be their only option.

"Couldn't we find a specialist on Cybertron? There must be some that are still alive."

Ratchet winced to hear the usually paranoid and often pessimistic Red Alert speak those words, which in their present circumstances were nothing more than a hallmark of his desperate state of mind. "I don't know, Red. A lot of medical specialists of all types became field medics during the war because every bot with even the smallest amount of physical repair skill was needed during the war effort. Unfortunately being field medics meant being on the front lines and you know what the survival statistics were, especially after the Decepticons abandoned honourable warfare and started targeting non-combatants..."

"You're not sending Inferno away."

"I hope we won't have to, Red."

"You're not sending him away!" Red Alert shouted. "He stood up for me when this same 'solution' of yours was proposed after what happened with Starscream – I'm not going to let you ship him off like damaged goods..."

Ratchet looked Red Alert in the optics. "Red Alert, I promise I will exhaust all other possibilities before anything like that is even considered, but if I believe it is necessary, I will recommend it to Optimus."

Red Alert wilted slightly, with a soft sound of despair. "I can't believe it's come to this, I can't believe we have to start over. Inferno and I were almost talking again..."

The CMO softened. "I know it's hard to begin again, but there's no reason you have to lose all the progress you made. You seem ready to fight for him against all comers, well don't stop fighting, not even if it's against Inferno himself."

"I don't know," the Lamborghini hesitated. "That doesn't sound like it would help him."

"Well, suppressing your true feelings because you're afraid of upsetting him more isn't going to help either of you," Ratchet answered. "You're hurt, and maybe even angry because of what he tried to do - I think he needs to hear that. I know you think he's got so many other problems that your concerns seem petty by comparison, but I think that's part of the reason he needs to hear from you so badly – he's so focused on what he's been through that he thinks he's alone."

"But I leaned on him so much before, isn't it my turn to carry a little of the burden?"

"There's carrying a little of the burden, and then there's taking it over completely. I think in the past there might have been a little too much of the latter in your relationship. I never said anything about it because you two seemed to have a handle on what you were doing..." And because, if Ratchet were to be completely honest with himself, Inferno acting as Red Alert's care giver in addition to his lover meant that the burden did not have to fall to someone else. "But it is an unrealistic way to go about things. You two are partners, and that means sharing, so just because Inferno might be doing a bit more leaning for the time being, doesn't mean that you have no one to turn to yourself. Inferno is stronger than you think... and so are you."

"It doesn't feel that way right now," Red Alert admitted in a small voice.

Ratchet moved around the berth and put an arm around the security director's shoulders, surprised when the other mech leaned into the comforting touch rather than stiffening as he would usually. "You don't have to feel strong in order to be strong," he said, giving Red Alert a brief squeeze before releasing him. "Shall we wake him up now?"

Red Alert stood up a little straighter, as though steeling himself for what was to come, then nodded.


	29. If

**Title:** Immolation (Part 29/100)  
**Prompt: ****"If"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1568

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Mentions of Ratchet.

**Warnings:** Sticky.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Red Alert confronts Inferno about his suicide attempt, and resorts to desperate measures to avoid a repetition.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

If

Red Alert watched as Inferno's optics brightened, the sharp, bright pang of relief he felt somehow not reassuring, just another too-intense sensation layered over the pain and grief he felt because of the fire engine's actions. Because of his attempt to abandon him.

"Red...?" Even the sound of that voice, that warmly accented voice that used to wrap around him like an auditory blanket of comfort, even that hurt...

"Yes, Inferno," Red Alert answered, his own voice hollow. "I'm here."

Inferno's head tossed back and forth on the berth, the rest of his body remaining motionless. "I can't... I can't move..." he stammered, in a panic-stricken voice.

"You're not damaged," the red and white mech answered, somewhat relieved that Inferno seemed to care about the state of his body in spite of his earlier attempts to permanently disengage himself from it. "No thanks to you. Ratchet disabled your motor functions so we wouldn't have a repeat performance on our hands."

The fire engine had relaxed a little at Red Alert's reassurances, but the panic came back into his voice and face. "Performance? What happened?"

Unconsciously, Red Alert's hand went to his throat. "You don't remember?" he asked. "You don't remember attacking me, choking me into unconsciousness, escaping from the Ark, and trying to..." He couldn't bring himself to say 'kill yourself', just the idea of what could have happened was like a raw wound inside of him.

Inferno had the grace to wince guiltily. "I... I remember that..."

"Then you're wondering why you're still here?" Red Alert deduced, shuddering slightly, as he remembered what Ratchet had told him before, that it was nothing short of a miracle that Inferno was still around considering what his capacity to damage himself had been before he'd accidentally disabled his own motor control. Of course the Lamborghini would sooner resign from his position as Security Director and take up a full time job polishing Sunstreaker than tell Inferno that. "I'm not about to tell you what you might have done wrong, and give you the chance to correct it on subsequent attempts."

The red mech pressed his lip components together tightly.

"Why?" As Red Alert spoke the single syllable his voice crackled with static, a rush of cleaning fluid suddenly streaming down his face from brimming optics as he voiced the question that had plagued him since Inferno had been brought back to the Ark, covered in energon and badly mangled by his own hand. "I thought I was important to you. You risked everything to save me, why do that if you were only going to leave me afterwards?"

"But I didn't want ta leave ya..." Inferno's pleading tone was not without its own share of static.

"You had a strange way of showing it!" the red and white mech cried.

Inferno turned his head away in shame. "I... I'm sorry, Red, I wasn't thinkin' straight... Jus' the thought of everyone knowin', everyone talkin'..."

"You could have talked to me!" Frustration filled Red Alert – hadn't they just had a conversation to that effect the very night before Inferno had run off? Perhaps he hadn't been clear enough, but at least he could remedy that now.

"I panicked, Red... I wasn't tryin' ta hurt ya..." he said, shaking his head regretfully, a single tear escaping his own optics..

"Well, you did it anyway." Red Alert swiped angrily at his face, wishing the tears would stop flowing. "The attacking me I can actually understand, you were really upset, almost crazed..." Truthfully it had terrified him to see Inferno like that, and it gave him a new respect for the other mech's ability to handle him during one of his episodes. "But afterwards, when you had stopped, had some time to think... Your first thought wasn't about me, about the fact that I... I love you and want to be here for you... It was about how to make an even more permanent escape."

"I told ya, Red," Inferno stammered. "I wasn't..."

"Thinking straight. Yes, you've said that several times now." He took Inferno's face between his hands, forcing him to meet his optics. "What I want to know is how you're thinking right now. Are you going to do that again?"

"Red, I..." Inferno's hesitancy spoke louder than mere words.

Overcome by fear and panic, Red Alert grabbed Inferno by the shoulders and shook him until his dentals rattled. "Answer me!"

"I... I don't know, Red," the larger mech admitted.

The admission seared him like a beaker of acid poured straight into his spark, and all he wanted to do was turn around and walk, or better yet, run out of medbay, and lock himself in the security centre, never to emerge again. That would be the easy way, however, and Inferno hadn't taken the easy way when he'd given himself to Megatron and faced all those Decepticons, even if he had nearly taken it afterwards.

"Well, shall I tell you what I know?" Red Alert said in a dangerously quiet voice. "I know that if you ever try that again, I'm going to do the same thing, and unlike you I don't have my weapons disabled and restrictions placed on my whereabouts. So if you try, I'm going to do more than try, I'm going to succeed!"

An expression of horror crept over Inferno's faceplates, and his head jerked upwards, as if he would have risen had he been able to."Red, no! That ain't..."

"'Ain't' what?" Red Alert snapped, defending his position even though he knew what he had said amounted to the most underhanded piece of emotional blackmail he could ever imagine, but this was a battle for a mech's life, a mech he loved, and he considered the sharp, stinging pangs of guilt a small price to pay compared to the agony of an eternity without Inferno "Fair? Well, neither is what you did! Trying to... to... offline yourself without even waiting to see if things might get better, without giving me a chance to be a proper partner to you for once, a chance to give back a little of what you've given to me all this time!" He regarded Inferno searchingly, looking for a glimmer of understanding, hoping that his dire warning would have the desired effect. "Do you think that's fair?"

"No, Red," the fire engine answered.

"Alright, then. You remember that," he said, poking Inferno hard in the chest, but carefully, to avoid the fresh welds. "You remember that the next time you think about extinguishing this spark that is more precious to me than my own! I'm not doing this without you, and you are not doing this without me! However you choose to handle the rest of your life after this point, I will be there, every step of the way. So you'd better watch where you're stepping, because wherever you go I am fragging well going to follow – and if that's into the Matrix, or even the depths of the Pit itself, so be it."

Inferno's optics overflowed, tears spilling down the sides of his face unchecked. "But why?" he asked. "Why stay with me? Why say all those things? I ain't no good ta ya no more..."

"That's not true!" Red Alert answered vehemently, feeling taken aback and more than a little guilty for Inferno's emotional response, though he pushed the guilt away resolutely, telling himself that everything he did was for the best. Gently, he began wiping away his lover's tears. "You may not be feeling like your usual self, but you're still the mech I love and want to be with. Primus, you put yourself through horrible things to save me, how could I not want you after you did something so selfless and brave?" 

"Don't feel too selfless or brave right about now...:" Inferno admitted.

Red Alert stroked Inferno's white 'wings' soothingly. "And I wasn't expecting you to. You've been strong for me all this time, but it's time for you to let that go, to focus on getting better."

"But what about you?"

"In case you don't remember, I lived most of my life without help from anyone – I think I can still remember how to do that. It's not that I don't still need you, because I do, I always will, I just don't need you to pretend to be strong for my sake. What I need is for you to be exactly as you are, right now, without worrying about how you used to be, or how you might be in the future. And when you're hurting and you feel sad or alone, I want you to tell me." The security director pressed a kiss to the middle of Inferno's forehead. "Can you do that?"

Slowly, Inferno nodded.

"Good. I'm going to go find Ratchet and see if we can't at least have some of your motor relays online, because right now I would very much like to hug you, and have you hug me back instead of lying there like a lump of slag."

"I think... I think I'd like that, too, Red."


	30. Strangers

**Title:** Immolation (Part 30/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Strangers"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1120

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** OC rape survivors.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Fictional rape stories which may be triggering.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Inferno's story touches people in ways that he had never imagined.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

All the stories you will read are completely made up by me, but if they bear an unfortunate resemblance to something that happened to you, or someone you know, please accept my deepest apologies. I assure you it was not intentional.

Also, the characters telling the stories may have their own individual biases and prejudices. Please be assured that these are not my true opinions.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Strangers

Dear Inferno,

You don't know me but I feel like I know you.

Your story has been all over the news lately, and I can't imagine what you must be going through because of that.

About the other things that happened to you, unfortunately, I can do more than imagine.

I was a freshman in college, out drinking with my fraternity when I started to feel funny, so they all laughed and teased me about not being able to hold my liquor and took me back to the frat house.

I must have blacked out for a while, but when I woke up, one of the guys was on top of me, touching me, doing things to me. I tried to tell him to stop, but it was like I was speaking gibberish. He only laughed and kept up what he was doing. I guess I blacked out again after that, because I can't remember anything else.

In the morning I wasn't sure if I had just dreamed the whole thing, but there were things that made me wonder, like the fact that I was naked except for a pair of boxers and wrapped in someone else's sheets. They said it was because I threw up all over myself, but I wonder now if it wasn't some plan to get rid of the evidence.

I never told anyone what happened because I figured they would say it was my own fault for drinking too much, and besides, the guy who did it was an honour student who volunteered at a homeless shelter, and he also had a really hot girlfriend – I mean, who would believe that somebody like that would go raping someone, especially another guy? It's weird, I don't think he was even gay, so how could I get anyone to believe me?

I tried to stay in school, I really did, but I kept skipping classes because I just couldn't bring myself to care anymore. Looking back I realize how depressed I was, and that maybe if I'd taken advantage of some of the help offered at the school, I could have still saved my year. By the time I realized how screwed I was – ha ha – it was too late for me to drop my classes without still having to pay the full tuition cost for them.

I told my parents that I dropped them anyway and gave them back all the money that they had given me for tuition. I thought I would try going back the next year, but I never did make it back. Luckily the university was slow and didn't threaten to send my debt to a collection agency until after I had a job that would let me pay back what I owed them.

To this day I never told anyone what happened. Until now. I don't know if I'll ever tell anyone else, but I had to tell you. I guess just seeing that it could happen to someone like you, who looks so strong made me think maybe it happens to other guys too, you know. More than people say it does.

* * *

Inferno,

If you knew who I was you'd probably delete this message, so I don't know why I'm bothering.

But I wanted to tell you that what happened to you ain't right.

It ain't never right, it's something that people shouldn't be doing to other people, even people who might not be perfect, who might have done some things they weren't supposed to, things that landed them on the other side of the law.

Like people in jail. People make jokes about it all the time, like it's okay or something, like if you're a bad enough person it's okay for you to be hurt by other people in ways that would land people on the outside in jail.

But it's not a joke, and I know you understand that.

And maybe, sometimes, I think I deserve what happened to me.

But you didn't deserve it.

Take care, man.

* * *

Dear Inferno,

When I saw what had happened to you on the news I just had to write to you.

I don't know how to read or write, or use a computer, so I was lucky to find a nice lady at the library who agreed to type this up for me.

I know what it is like when rape becomes part of war.

Two years ago a group of soldiers came to my village. Since our men were away fighting on the other side, they hurt everyone, from old grandmothers to girls as young as eleven. I was one of the lucky ones because I was not permanently damaged, but some of us were hurt so badly they needed surgery.

I do not know how many were with you, but the news said it was a lot, so I imagine you must have been hurt badly.

I am very sorry to hear this happened to you, because I know you and your friends are trying to fight the bad ones like you and keep them from hurting us.

After something like this happens, you might feel like you are less of a person, that you are damaged and not worth much any more. But this is not true. You are a brave soldier, and the world needs more like you.

May God bless you.

* * *

Inferno laid aside the data pad he was reading, rubbing at his optics hard. So many people, so many languages, so many eyes that had witnessed his shame, and yet...

"Inferno?" Red Alert asked, placing a hand on his arm. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I was jus' readin' some of the e-mails Rewind sent for me, from people who saw the news broadcast." Just thinking about how many made his tanks churn, and yet he had been unable to stop himself from reading their words, despite his terrible fear of what might be said.

"He shouldn't be sending those to you!" Red Alert exclaimed, clearly ready to work himself into a protective fury on his behalf at the slightest provocation. It was touching, if a little exasperating. "I'm going to have words with Blaster!"

"No, Red, it's alright. The people writin' are real nice." He would never be happy that the whole world now knew about what had happened to him, but it was comforting to know that not everyone regarded his story as simple sordid gossip to enjoy; some, it seemed, actually understood.


	31. Summer

**Title:** Immolation (Part 31/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Summer"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 944

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** None.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to past rape.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Inferno's frustration over not being able to make his usual summer trip to fight wildfires in California leads to more conversation with Red Alert.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Breem – 8.3 minutes

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Summer

It was summer, peak wildfire season in Southern California, and here he was, confined to a berth.

Inferno slammed his fist down in frustration, a frustration which wasn't helped by his compulsion to check the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection's fire incident information Web site every few breems. The fact that Red Alert no longer jumped in surprise at the expression of said frustration was a testament to just how much he had been banging his fist down in the past few groons.

The security director, for his part, was surprisingly sympathetic, despite the fact that he hated the month-long goodwill visit Inferno made to California every summer, to say nothing of the extra trips for emergencies when things got really out of hand, as they had back in 2009.

"Humans have been fighting fires on their own long before we came here," Red Alert pointed out in the same only temporarily soothing refrain he had been offering to Inferno every time he growled or slammed his fist down.

"I know that," Inferno replied, and he did, having seen first hand the heroism and ingenuity his organic counterparts were capable of, but that didn't stop him from wanting in on the action. "I just... I guess I finally understand why ya always hated givin' up yer job ta someone else, even when ya needed the rest. People can tell ya it's gonna be fine without ya all they like, but ya can't help thinkin' that it would be better if ya were there, or worryin' that somethin' might happen that ya coulda fixed, but they can't..."

Red Alert nodded and offered Inferno a small smile. "Yes, that's exactly how it feels. It's hard letting go."

Inferno tilted his head, regarding his lover quizzically as his words brought to mind something that had been puzzling him ever since they had returned home. "But ya've been so calm lately," he said wonderingly. "Yer here almost all the time, 'cept for when Ratchet kicks ya out an' makes ya go fer a drive or somethin', but I don't ever hear ya complain... Are them itty bitty datapads Prowl keeps sendin' ya really helpin' ta take the edge off that much? It ain't normal for ya, Red."

The Lamborghini set down the datapad he had been holding. "No, it isn't normal, and I think that's exactly the point. I'm not normal right now. " He picked up the energon cube he'd been casually sipping for the past while and took another drink. "I think for the first time ever I actually agree with Ratchet that I'm not ready to go back to work – do you know how bizarre that is?"

"I think I have an inklin'," Inferno answered.

"What happened... changed me," Red Alert said in a quiet voice. "I didn't go through the same thing you did, but I was _there –_ I might as well have been in the same room."

"Red..."

Red Alert held up his hand. "I know you don't like being reminded of that, but that's the way it happened, and pretending differently is not going to change things. I was there, and even though listening to... what happened was the most horrible thing I've ever experienced in my life, I wouldn't have done it differently. At least I could be with you, even if you didn't know I was there, _I _knew I was there. Just like you thought I might be, do you remember that?"

Inferno remembered, he remembered every single word he had spoken to Red Alert during those dark groons of suffering the Decepticons' brutal attentions. Including the part about bonding. He hadn't wanted Red Alert to hear what was happening, and yet paradoxically talking to him as if he could had been immensely comforting. "I remember..." he admitted reluctantly.

"Inferno..." Red Alert moved to sit on the edge of the berth, and stroked Inferno's cheek. "I don't think any less of you, if that's what's bothering you about me having heard. No one, no sentient being, could have gone through what you did without reacting, and to pretend otherwise is completely unrealistic."

"I know." He did know, on an intellectual level, but on an emotional level he was horrified, and moving beyond that horror just didn't seem to be possible. The foundation of his relationship with Red Alert had, to his mind, always been that he was the strong protector, and Red Alert the one who needed protecting. Now that he had been proved vulnerable, and Red Alert had shown himself to be stronger than expected, the fire engine didn't know where he stood. "I just... It ain't supposed to be like this..."

"Like what?" Red Alert asked.

"Me bein' weak, an' all..."

"I told you it doesn't matter," Red Alert answered firmly, "and I will keep telling you that until it gets through that thick, reinforced plating of yours. You and I have both been changed by this experience, so expecting our relationship to stay the same is foolish."

"I guess it is," Inferno acknowledged reluctantly, even though all he wanted was for things to go back to the same, comfortable, familiar routine, with Red Alert working too hard, and himself trying unsuccessfully to get him to balance his priorities. He hadn't realized how much he had depended on that routine, to the point where, if Red Alert had actually listened to his admonishments, he wouldn't have known what to do with himself afterwards.

Just as he didn't right now.


	32. Weeks

**Title:** Immolation (Part 32/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Weeks"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 1790

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ratchet.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to rape. Graphic medical examination of personal areas.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary:**** A few weeks after they've returned home, Ratchet does his first examination of Inferno to see how his internal injuries are healing.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Weeks

"It's time, Inferno," Ratchet said, approaching the berth where Inferno rested.

The fire engine looked up warily from his datapad, not liking the sound of that at all. "Time for what?"

"Your examination," the CMO explained. "I need to check to see how your injuries are healing."

A minute shiver went through Inferno as he guessed what that would mean: Ratchet would need to examine the places where he had been hurt, private places that he didn't want anyone touching, not now, and perhaps not ever again. "What, now?"

"Yes," Ratchet said, looking sympathetic. "I know it's not something you would like to happen, but I'm afraid I can't forgo these examinations. If I don't check periodically things could heal incorrectly." He activated the subroutines for Inferno's legs so he could walk. "If you like, Red Alert can come with you."

Nervousness flooded Inferno, but he was very reluctant to admit it despite previous conversations with Red Alert, which had indicated his lover would not be expecting stoicism. "Naw, I'll be fine," he said, trying to will it into being true. He got up and made it about as far as the door to the private examination room, Ratchet leading the way, but when he saw the berth outfitted with stirrups and the assortment of invasive looking instruments he froze, legs refusing to carry him any further.

"Are you sure you don't want Red Alert with you?" Ratchet asked, arching one optic ridge. "It's alright, Inferno, it's normal to want someone with you sometimes." He didn't say 'After what happened' but that was clearly what he meant.

"Uhh, maybe... I think so?" Inferno said uncertainly, but when he glanced back at Red Alert, something in his optics must have given him away because the Lamborghini was instantly at his side, gently guiding him into the room.

"Ratchet is very efficient," Red Alert said, trying to sound reassuring. "This won't take long."

Ratchet pressed a code into a keypad, shutting and locking the door, then turned back to face them. "If you need to take more time, or if you want me to stop for a moment, just let me know."

The medic conspicuously washed his hands, then donned a pair of large, specially fabricated latex gloves that he ordered in bulk from a medical supplier. "Inferno, when you're ready could I please get you to lie down and put your feet in the stirrups for me?"

Inferno started at the examination berth, then at Ratchet, then at the berth once again. "I... I can't..."

Red Alert placed his hands on either side of Inferno's face, turning the larger mech to face him. "Yes you can. I believe in you." He wrapped his arm around the fire truck, patting him soothingly on the back. "We'll do this one step at a time, alright?"

Inferno nodded. "Alright."

"How about we try sitting on the table first?" Red suggested. "That's easy isn't it?" He hopped up on the table himself, and patted the spot beside him, as if he were inviting Inferno to sit down and drink energon with him, rather than have a humiliating medical examination.

Inferno reluctantly sat, and Red gave him an supportive squeeze, standing back up again himself.

"Next how about we try lying down?"

The fire truck hesitantly swung his legs up onto the berth and stretched out full length, and Red Alert moved up to the top of the berth so Inferno could see him, and smiled down at him encouragingly.

"That's very good," Red Alert praised. "Now maybe you could bring up your knees and scoot forward a bit?"

Haltingly, Inferno did as Red suggested, bringing his aft to the edge of the berth and putting his feet in the stirrups, taking the position he knew was required of him. He mentally berated himself, it wasn't as though he hadn't already gone through this enough. He'd never found things like this fun, but he had handled it in the past, just resolutely shuttering his optics and thinking of Cybertron, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally.

Ratchet moved to pull a stool to the front of the berth, adjusting it for height.

Inferno tried to crane his neck to see, but Red Alert placed calming hands on his chest.

"Just look at me, Inferno," the Lamborghini said. "I'll be right here the whole time."

"Are you ready to open your panel for me, Inferno?" Ratchet asked from somewhere over the landscape of his body.

Inferno sent the command and shuttered his optics, cringing. He could feel Red Alert's hands stroking his face and helmet and tried to focus on that, rather than the sound of medical grade lubricant being dispensed onto soon to be invasive fingers, or the clink of intimidating instruments.

"Alright Inferno, you're doing great," Ratchet said. "You'll feel a slight pressure."

A finger slipped into his valve - he couldn't really feel much, since the internal sensors had been so badly damaged, but his external sensors practically screamed that it was there. The finger rotated, pressing upwards, downwards and to both sides before withdrawing.

"Just one more," Ratchet promised. "This will feel a little cold." Something thinner that Ratchet's fingers, and not quite as cold as Inferno was expecting slid into his valve, pushing in as far as it would go, and then withdrawing at a pace entirely too slow for Inferno's liking. Finally the instrument was removed from his valve. "That's it, one part done. You can shut your upper panel and sit up now."

Inferno did so and squirmed, the lubricant uncomfortably slick where it smeared his exterior sensors, but he knew that Ratchet would give him something to clean up with when they were through.

"You did very well," Red Alert told him. "It's almost over."

"Okay, Inferno," Ratchet said calmly. "When you're ready I need you to get up on your hands and knees."

Inferno trembled. "Can't ya do that some other way?"

"I'm afraid not," Ratchet said. "I need to be able to see into the entire lower portion of your waste system without it being compressed, and I can't do that with you lying down or bending over."

Red Alert got up onto the back of the table, kneeling on it so Inferno would be facing him when he took the position Ratchet requested. "I'll be here the whole time," he said.

Inferno nodded, and shakily climbed fully onto the table, settling onto his hands and knees, trying not to think about his most recent memories of being in this position.

"When you're ready, Inferno," Ratchet said from behind him.

Clenching his dentals, Inferno opened his lower panel.

Again the sound of dispensing lubricant, and then Ratchet's voice. "Inferno, could I get you to bear down for me, please?"

Inferno squeezed his muscle cables as instructed, wincing as he felt Ratchet's cool, slippery, gloved finger enter his waste port, hating how the texture and temperature of the lubricant seemed to enhance his feelings of vulnerability. It didn't hurt, but he could feel it a lot more intensely than he had in his valve, as if the sensors within were healing more quickly, which he supposed made some sort of sense – waste evacuation was more important than interfacing, so his systems would probably have made it a priority. He supposed he should be happy that he was getting better, but the immediacy of the unwanted finger poking and prodding within him made him long for blessed numbness.

Red Alert was petting his helm and stroking his face again, but the attempt at distraction could not seem to impede his focus on the way his body was being violated against his will once more.

After what seemed like entirely too long, the finger withdrew. "You're doing well Inferno, I'm almost finished," Ratchet said soothingly.

He felt the press of another lubricated instrument against his opening, and focused on cycling his vents as it slid inside, feeling like it was going entirely too deep. The instrument was then withdrawn at an agonizingly slow pace, similar to what had happened with his valve.

"That's it, you're all done," Ratchet said, a strange echo of relief cutting through his professional demeanour.

Inferno practically slammed his panel shut, and scrambled off the table as fast as he could, realizing that he had begun to tremble uncontrollably.

Distantly he was aware of Red Alert's arms coming around him, and of himself clinging to the smaller red and white form desperately. Ratchet was saying something, and every now and then Red Alert would respond, or ask a question, but he couldn't seem to concentrate on what was being said.

"Inferno?"

With a start he realized that he and Red Alert were alone in the examination room.

"Where's Ratchet?" He couldn't seem to remember the other mech leaving.

"He left so that you'd have some privacy to clean up." Red Alert offered him a cloth. "I can go too, if you like."

"No!" he exclaimed in a panicked tone, then forced himself to speak more calmly. "No." Hurriedly he took the cloth and wiped first beneath his forward, and then his aft panel, wanting them shut again and quickly as possible.

Red Alert respectfully averted his optics. "Ratchet says next time he'll give you a light sedative so the procedure won't be so stressful."

"Stressful?" Inferno repeated, a little confused as he deposited the cloth in the bin provided. Yes, he'd been glad to get it over with, but he thought he'd made it through alright.

"You were crying the entire time," Red Alert explained in a small voice.

Inferno touched his face, shocked when his fingers came away wet, and a quiet sob escaped him – what was wrong with him that he had been completely unaware of his own actions?

"It's alright, Ratchet says this can happen sometimes – your processor can't handle what's happening and you sort of tune out." The red and white mech shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

"Red," Inferno began, hating to say what he was about to, but knowing that he needed it. "Can... can we stay in here for a while? I don't think I can face Ratchet just now..."

"Of course," Red Alert said, enfolding him in a gentle hug that only grew tighter and more reassuring as the tears came again. "Take all the time you need."


	33. Anger

**Title:** Immolation (Part 33/100)  
**Prompt: **"Anger"  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 502  
**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Hot Rod. OC firefighters.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. Allusions to rape.  
**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: **The SHOX News broadcast garners some angry reactions.  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

This piece is a little out of order and jumps around a bit – the first two parts happened around the time Inferno attempted suicide, whereas the last part was later, in the fall, when the Autobots finally got a court order for SHOX to give them a copy of the footage they received from the Decepticons.

Anger

Hot Rod glared at the throng of reporters gathered outside the Autobot City building site.

"You want a comment? I'll give you miserable bottom feeders a comment!

Just imagine that something like this happened to you, your husband, your wife, your brother, your daughter, your son or your friend! How would you like it blared all over the news by ruthless sub-sentient monsters who only care about ratings?

Or get this, how about if it was one of your soldiers, one of the brave men and women who put their afts on the line every day so that you can sit all comfortably at home pretending that no one is dying for you. Well, in case it hadn't occurred to you, we Autobots are those people too. Inferno is one of those people. He gets hurt and shot at so that you don't have to, so that the Decepticons don't come to your neighbourhoods and stomp your children like insects, just because they fragging feel like it!

And now something even worse happened to him, and you're all running around talking about it like it's some big entertaining thing, well it isn't! You are talking about someone's LIFE, someone's life that was changed forever because of the horrible things that people do to each other during war.

So maybe all of you should stop thinking about how many comments you can get and start having a little RESPECT!"

* * *

Hordes of retired firefighters mobbed the SHOX broadcast studio in Portland, carrying signs and placards with various slogans including "Shame on you, SHOX!" and "We stand by our own!"

"Many of us have known Inferno practically our entire careers," one former firefighter with grey hair explained to the camera. "He's been there for us when we needed him so how could we do anything less? SHOX can argue freedom of speech and crap about famous people being fair game all they want, what they did was mean, underhanded, and downright cruel!"

"Yeah," another chimed in, "they care more about the almighty dollar than honouring and respecting a real hero – if there's any justice in this world they should never be able to get a good night's sleep ever again."

"The Autobots are being much too nice about the whole thing!" someone else added. "They should sue the pants off SHOX – anyone else would!"

* * *

He calmly tallied up each of the Decepticons as they took their turn with Inferno, patiently wrote down any conversations or statements which might have tactical importance, compiling everything into a terse report devoid of any emotional reaction.

He forwarded the document to Optimus Prime and Jazz, and then shut off his terminal, walking towards the door of his office.

He disengaged his battle computer.

And put a dent in the wall that would have done Omega Supreme proud.


	34. Halloween

**Title:** Immolation (Part 34/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Halloween"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 665

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** None

**Warnings:** Sticky.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Inferno didn't intend to go to the Ark's annual Halloween party this year – at least until Red Alert stepped in to play fairy godmother.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Happy Halloween, all! This is either a bonus chapter, or tomorrow's chapter sent out early, depending on how I feel after the festivities tonight. ;)

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle:

Halloween

There was the sound of the locking code being inputted, and then Red Alert walked into their shared quarters, carrying a huge crate which he set down next to the berth where Inferno was resting. "Open it," he said nervously.

Inferno sat up, looking the crate over in shock. "Ya got me a present?" The wash of sentimental pleasure and excitement he felt at the prospect put uncomfortable cracks in the numbness he had been trying to cultivate for weeks, but try as he might he couldn't force the feelings down.

"Yes I did, now open it." Red Alert seemed impatient and uncomfortable, the uncertain expression on his faceplates so endearing that Inferno wanted to take the other mech in his arms and cuddle him until he squeaked and demanded to be freed.

Instead Inferno pried the top off the crate and pulled out the first item, which was a giant white cowboy hat.

"It's for the party tonight," Red Alert said, shyly. "I know you and Ironhide went as cowboys before, but that was back in 1990. Besides, I updated your look a bit."

Inferno tried to speak, but words did not emerge as he pulled out the next item, a brown faux suede vest with a huge shiny gold start that said 'Sheriff' on it, followed by a pair of brown leather-look chaps, and matching wrap-around cowboy boots. A gun belt with Transformer sized replica six-shooters and a turquoise inlaid belt buckle completed the ensemble. A quick scan of the items indicated that they had been manufactured precisely to his dimensions. "How?" he finally managed.

"The Internet," Red Alert replied in a tone that at once sounded proud yet uncertain.

The fire engine knew how much Red Alert hated and feared the humans' Internet, considering it a dangerous security risk, which was pretty much how he had also felt about the once-vibrant global Cybertronian network back home. So the fact that his lover had braved the 'dangerous' realm of cyberspace in order to buy him a present made the gift itself even more touching.

"I... I don't know what ta say, Red," Inferno murmured, staring at the gifts. He hadn't intended to go to the party, hadn't so much as thought about a costume until relatively recently when he realized it would be too late for him to put anything together – Halloween costumes for giant robots weren't exactly something that was sold off the rack. He realized that Red Alert must have planned this and ordered far in advance.

"Say you'll come to the party tonight," Red Alert pleaded. "Ironhide gave me his cowboy costume and I adjusted it to fit me, so I'll be going as your deputy."

"But Red, ya've never worn a costume before." The situation was growing increasingly surreal, and Inferno was beginning to wonder if he'd lost his mind completely.

"There's a first time for everything," the Lamborghini replied shyly.

"But what about the monitors?"

"I've arranged for them to be watched in shifts so no one will have to skip the party completely," Red Alert answered. It sounded like his lover had thought of everything.

"Well, I guess I've got no choice, then, Red," Inferno said. "I'll go with ya." He was surprised to feel a faint twinge of excitement at the reaction he was sure to get from his wonderful costume, and the fact that he would be able to proudly tell everyone that Red had bought it just for him. To say nothing of the fact that Red himself appearing in costume was sure to cause a few processor crashes – just the kind of humorous mayhem that seemed to be the spirit of this human celebration they'd adopted.

The expression of joy on Red Alert's faceplates was one that Inferno never in a million vorns would have expected to see him make because of a party.


	35. Betrayal

**Title:** Immolation (Part 35/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Betrayal"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** R  
**Words:** 853

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Jazz. Punch/Counterpunch.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Images of rape. Mild violence. Dark.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Punch and Jazz discuss the double agent's decision to participate in Inferno's rape.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year.

Betrayal

Jazz looked at his orange, black, and blue operative through half-shuttered optics, leaning back in his desk chair as if completely relaxed, but he was far from it, for they were discussing a highly sensitive subject. "Ya know the only reason ya are still functionin' is because ya asked for this meetin' before ya found out we were gonna get a copy of the video," he remarked with seeming casualness, but it was no idle remark. Occasionally deep cover agents became compromised, and in his time as head of Special Ops he'd been forced to ruthlessly put such rogues down for the greater good of the Autobots. The fact that Punch had intended to inform Jazz of his actions rather than hoping they would remain secret, was a sign that perhaps he hadn't yet outlived his Autobot sensibilities, and thus his usefulness.

Punch, to his credit, or perhaps his detriment, didn't flinch.

"Have a seat." The black and white mech's visor gleamed dangerously as he indicated a chair next to his desk.

"I'd rather stand," the orange mech replied.

"Sit." Jazz's voice didn't change in pit or tone, but Punch instantly complied with the order, taking the seat which had been placed facing the view screen on the wall. The Porsche sent a command, and a clip from the footage of the rape was displayed. A black and blue mech with sharply pointed antennae approached Inferno's supine, quivering form, words were exchanged and then the smaller Decepticon began to lavish the larger red Autobot with attentions that appeared superficially rough enough to satisfy appearances, but which had an entirely different, and, some would say, more compassionate purpose. The encounter was relatively quick, but by the time it was over, the much-violated fire engine had nonetheless overloaded no less than three times, which, considering the badly injured state of his body, and his lack of consent to the situation, was a testimony to astounding skill.

He watched Punch covertly as the video played, but the spy gave away nothing by his actions to show either pleasure, or disgust at being forced to relive his actions.

The video clip ended, and the screen shut off automatically.

"Well?" Jazz asked, wanting to hear his operative's appraisal of his own actions.

"I enjoyed it," Punch admitted in a hard voice, a voice that, to Jazz's experienced audios, was too hard to be honest in its attempt to convey cruelty. "Perhaps it is time you 'retired' me."

"Why did ya do it?"

"Because I wanted to," Punch replied coldly, "because the idea of him under me, broken, unwilling, but overloading again and again because I am _just that good,_ made my energon run hotter than it has in a very, very long time..." More softly, he added. "Too long..."

Jazz knew he was being provoked, knew the motivation behind it and what it was intended to achieve. That said provocation did achieve its goal, however, was not due to failed willpower, but rather the opposite, a deliberate choice on the saboteur's part – had it not been, Punch would have been dead before he hit the floor.

Their frames clattered together noisily as Jazz pounced, taking the other spy down so quickly that he had no time to react, and they fell together like some strangely choreographed ballet, the black and white mech poised to sever his victim's main energon lines if he so much as twitched.

Punch smiled. "Do it," he whispered. "You know I've betrayed the Autobot cause. I may not have given away information, may not have caused deaths but I have taken innocent lives nonetheless. Inferno and his little security director will never be the same thanks to what I took part in. Willingly."

Jazz pressed the blade he held more tightly into the crevice in Punch's armour. "Ya were under orders," he growled viciously, snarling words that were essentially an absolution as if they were anathema, his visor blazing with inwardly directed hate that had to be channelled elsewhere before it destroyed him. "Ya were under orders not ta break yer cover no matter what. No matter what!" Orders. Jazz's orders. Punch was too valuable, too well-positioned to be allowed to take any risk that might expose him. Any risk. For any Autobot; with very few exceptions, one of which Inferno was not.

He flung the blade aside in disgust, and climbed off his agent.

The orange mech got calmly to his feet, seemingly unshaken. "I'll keep walking this tightrope," he warned darkly, "but sooner or later I _will_ fall off, on one side or the other."

"Ya stay away from Inferno, and say nothin'," Jazz warned. "Nothin', ya hear me!" And deep down, a voice inside asked him whether he was doing this to protect Punch's usefulness as a spy, Inferno's innocent trust of the mechs who commanded him, or merely himself.


	36. Fall

**Title:** Immolation (Part 36/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Fall"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 456

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Mention of Hound.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Angst.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Amidst the fall colours, Inferno reminisces and regrets.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year.

Fall

Inferno stood outside the Ark, staring at the trees in the distance, shaded now in reds and yellows, browns and oranges like the riotous heart of a flame, marking the transition into a new season. It was a season which, at various points over the summer since his attack, he had feared, hoped, and even planned, never to see.

Yet here he was – a victory, he had been told, but as much as others might see his continued survival as cause to rejoice, he felt only a hollow void where the satisfaction ought to have been. Physically he was healing well, but emotionally he was stalled, stagnant, oppressed by feelings he could neither contain nor control, too terrified now to end it all, thanks to Red Alert's ultimatum, but unable to truly live.

The faint tinge of smoke in the air from the humans' fireplaces, reminded him of the excitement he used to feel while working with the fire department, and of another autumn, this time last year, when he had taken Hound's suggestion to make love with Red Alert in the fallen leaves. His spark ached as he reviewed the image captures from that day, brilliant, clear, perfect, radiant, the picture of his beloved security director, smiling up at him amidst a blaze of organic brightness, the water droplets on the slightly damp foliage flaring and glinting like the purest crystal, scattering tiny rainbows over his trembling form.

The rest of their tryst hadn't been quite so perfect – the leaves had gotten stuck _everywhere_ and had even begun to smoulder from their overheating frames, raising plumes of stifling smoke, and smearing them with blackened ash. Unexpectedly it had not been ruined, for Red Alert had laughed that surprisingly bright laugh of his, his optics gleaming like azure nebulae in the night-darkness of his soot-stained face, and had told him – in a rare abandonment of caution in favour of passion - that they might as well finish what they started as the leaves around them were too wet to really begin to burn. Afterwards they had made sure there were no lingering hot spots and then traipsed back to the Ark looking more like they had returned from fighting a fire than having a romantic interlude, laughing like madmechs as they stumbled to the washracks, ignoring the shocked stares and fried processors they had left in their wake.

Compared to those distant, shining memories, what lingered before Inferno's optics now seemed like nothing but a dense and smothering monochrome, a visual cacophony that assaulted him, mocking his unhappiness, his dead and withered passion, with beauty that only seemed to reinforce his pain and remind him what an empty shell he had become.


	37. Classmates

**Title:** Immolation (Part 37/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Classmates"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 416

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** OC family and friends of rape survivors.

**Warnings:** Sticky.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Red Alert attends an information session for family, friends and partners of rape survivors, given by the local rape crisis centre.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of interlinked vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

As always, the human OCs are completely from my own imagination, and any resemblance to individuals alive or dead is merely coincidence.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year.

Classmates

They sat in the huge, unheated warehouse, still wearing their outdoor clothing, some of them seeming to glare resentfully at the newcomer who had necessitated this inhospitable location.

"I don't see what he's doing here," a tall, blonde haired woman whispered, unaware of just how acute his hearing was. "Don't they have their own groups or something?"

Red Alert debated addressing the malcontent, tersely informing her of the fact that he had heard every single one of the complaints she had voiced about him since she'd arrived, but he was out of his element, among strangers, and in this uncertain environment he hated stirring up confrontation. The fact that he was five times her size, and able to kill her with one hand, did not bolster his confidence in any way.

The red and white mech shifted on his skidplate, unconsciously drawing his knees up in a pathetically hopeless effort to make himself appear smaller. Escape was still possible, he reminded himself, nothing had started yet. He could transform and be out the door before anyone could say anything else.

Unexpectedly, a voice finally rose to his defence. "'They'," remarked an East Indian man in a blue turban who had until that moment been sitting in silence, "might be made of metal, but inside they are the same as you and me. You know what happened to his friend..."

"His partner," someone hissed. "Didn't you see it on the news, when they brought Inferno back from wherever he had run off to? You don't freak out like that over someone unless they're really important to you."

"Friend or partner," the turbaned man continued, "what does it matter? He has as much right to be here as any of us."

Just then a grey haired woman emerged from the office area of the warehouse, walking up to the podium that had been set up near two portable chalkboards. "Welcome everyone," she said in a strong, clear voice, "to today's lecture, but first a little information about our group: we are Survivor Support Services Portland, a resource and support centre for survivors of sexual assault. No matter who you are," her eyes darted quickly to where Red Alert sat and she gave him an encouraging smile, "if sexual assault has impacted your life we will be here for you. Tonight's topic is sexual assault and its impact on family, friends and partners of survivors..."


	38. Lasts

**Title:** Immolation (Part 38/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Lasts"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Words:** 653

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** None.

**Warnings:** Sticky. Sexual situations. Angst. Possible tissue warning.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Red Alert reminisces about past intimacies he enjoyed with Inferno, afraid that he will never experience them again.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Lasts

The last time Red Alert and Inferno made love had been some days before their capture by the Decepticons. Inferno had been part of an Autobot team that had fought off the latest energon raid by their enemies, and as was usual after a battle, he had come home revved and in the mood for action of a different sort.

Within astroseconds of Red Alert walking in the door of their shared quarters they were fragging wildly, the smaller mech pinned against the wall, each powerful thrust from Inferno's hips propelling him slightly upwards until the entire world seemed to pivot upon the slick, aching, heated stretch at the apex of his shaking thighs.

* * *

The last time Inferno gave Red Alert oral pleasure he had pulled the other mech's hips to the edge of the berth and knelt as though worshipping at an altar, alternately plundering his valve with his glossa and then sucking sensuously on his spike until the Lamborghini came apart beneath the clever workings of his mouth.

* * *

The last time Inferno penetrated Red Alert's aft he had been incredibly patient, tenderly awakening each of the red and white mech's pleasure sensors until he was begging to be taken, forgetting his usual apprehension over the size of Inferno's spike in conjunction with such a sensitive area. Incredibly, Inferno had gotten him so aroused that his usually uncomfortable feelings of vulnerability had become powerfully erotic, to the point where he'd climaxed violently within a few brief thrusts, surprising them both.

* * *

The last time Red Alert penetrated Inferno's valve he'd been too distracted by work to overload, so he'd been more than willing to content himself with having pleased his passionate lover. When Inferno had suggested he withdraw, Red Alert had thought perhaps the fire engine was getting too sore to continue, only to have him turn over, shamelessly opening his waste port cover and presenting his aft for the Lamborghini's spike.

Distraction of a different sort soon consumed him, much to their mutual delight.

* * *

The last time Red Alert overloaded he was in his private washracks, furtively stroking his valve and spike while Inferno drifted in a troubled recharge in the room beyond. Water cascaded over his frame, it's sound dampening the moans and sobs the red and white mech made, not all of which were from pleasure.

He hated himself for the passion that had finally reasserted itself after the shock of Inferno's terrible ordeal. It didn't seem right that he could feel desire when Inferno had been hurt so grievously, and the fact that the desire was directed towards his lover seemed like a horrific disrespect and disregard for what he had suffered, as if the act of craving Inferno's touch was itself another assault, an unforgivable imposition against a mech who had already gone through so much.

The lecture he had attended had helped somewhat at the time, letting him know what to expect and how to offer support as Inferno began to work towards healing himself from what had happened, but in the long, dark, twilight hours all the words of solidarity and comfort seemed distant and unreachable. The possibility that they could ever get back to anything even remotely resembling their previously enjoyable intimacy seemed like a far away, foolish hope that only those who had never endured this type of loss could conjure in their wishful ignorance.

And so, through the bitter relief of a solitary climax, Red Alert wept, he wept for Inferno's pain, for the past he would never see again, and for the future that he didn't dare imagine, sure than any hope he risked nurturing would only break him further when it inevitably proved false.


	39. Loss

**Title:** Immolation (Part 39/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Loss"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1214

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** None.

**Warnings:** Sticky.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Red Alert emerges from his shower, only to find that Inferno heard him crying.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Loss

After his shower and furtive masturbation session, Red Alert opted to towel himself off rather than use the hot air dryer so he wouldn't disturb Inferno, but when he emerged from the washroom, he realized he needn't have bothered, because the fire engine was awake.

Stretched out on his side, propped up by one elbow, Inferno would normally exude power, confidence and stability, an undeniably magnetic combination. As it was he seemed tense, wary, ready to flee at the slightest provocation; and Red Alert still wanted him, so badly it hurt.

"Ya needed a shower _now_?" Inferno asked, seeming puzzled by Red Alert's deviation from his typical nocturnal habits.

"Yes, I... had some grit in my... knee joint..." Red Alert stammered, climbing back onto the berth, and lying back down, keeping a few feet of distance between himself and Inferno where before he would have snuggled in as close as possible, as though trying to occupy the same space. "It was keeping me from recharging so I decided to get rid of it."

"Grit in yer knee joint, right," the larger mech replied, in a tone that sounded patently disbelieving. When Red Alert didn't say anything further, he spoke again."Ya were cryin'..."

Panic seized Red Alert's spark, making it clench and waver. "I wasn't..."

"Yer still cryin'." Inferno's strong black fingers brushed with infinite tenderness against Red Alert's pale faceplates.

"That's just water from the shower," Red Alert said dismissively, unwilling to give up his futile denial for fear that he would upset Inferno more than he had already.

"Don't lie ta me, Red," Inferno pleaded, voice spark-breakingly tender and sad at once. "Ya said we were in this together, an' last time I checked 'we' meant the both of us."

"I..." Having his words remembered and used against him resulted in an odd mix of pain and hope. Red Alert reached out to touch Inferno's face in turn, then drew back as if scalded, and in a sense he was, burned by the painful reminder that spontaneous gestures were not appropriate anymore.

In response Inferno took Red Alert's hand and placed it where it had been going. "Ya don't touch me no more," he whispered miserably. "At first ya were the same, but lately ya have been pullin' away more an' more. Why did ya stop?"

"Things I've been reading," Red Alert explained guiltily, unhappy to see his efforts to help Inferno were seemingly backfiring, if the hurt expression on the fire engine's face was anything to go by. "Things about what happened to you. They said I shouldn't touch you without asking you, because you might not want me to, but I realized that if I asked you to let me touch you then you might say yes just because you didn't want to hurt my feelings, and I would be forcing you to do something you didn't want to again, and..." Mortified, Red Alert found that his tears had returned, cleaning fluid pouring down his face. He stifled a sob, not wanting to sound more pathetic than he did already.

"Aww Red..." Inferno murmured, sounding pretty watery himself. He sat up and pulled Red Alert into his arms, holding him tightly. "Ya know what I thought?" he asked. "I thought ya didn't want me no more, I thought ya were disgusted by the thought of touchin' me..."

"No! Never..." Red Alert whimpered, horrified to have engendered those type of thoughts, let alone when Inferno was so vulnerable. "All I want is to touch you. I want to hold you in my arms and never let you go..."

"Then do it," Inferno said, vocalizer crackling with static. "Do it whenever ya want, an' trust me ta tell ya if it don't feel right ta me for some reason... An' it might happen sometimes, but no matter what, it ain't never gonna because I don't love ya..."

"And what about..." Red Alert trailed off, not even sure if he should bring up the topic.

"Interfacin'?" Inferno guessed.

"Yes..." the red and white mech whispered miserably, waiting for anger and recrimination for daring to think such thoughts, for daring to acknowledge them, to even hint that he might want something that Inferno wasn't able to give him right now.

Inferno's reaction, however, was very different. "Ya still want me... like that?" he asked in a small, shocked voice, as if such a possibility had not even occurred to him, as if the idea was actually welcome.

"Yes..." Red Alert acknowledged, saddened by the fact that Inferno would be surprised that it should be so.

"After everythin' that's happened, after what they've done, ya really...?"

"I could never stop wanting you," Red Alert whispered. "Never. I know you aren't healed yet, and you probably aren't ready, but whenever you are..."

Inferno hugged Red Alert tighter, until he almost felt his plating creaking in protest. "Oh Primus, I love ya, Red... Ya don't know how much I needed ta hear that..."

"I'm not just saying that," the smaller mech murmured, nuzzling against Inferno's helmet. "It's true."

"I know," said Inferno. "An' I want ya ta know that I still want ya too. I don't rightly know when I'll be ready for ya ta touch me, ya know, intimate-like, but I want ta be ready... I miss bein' close to ya like that..."

Relief flooded Red Alert. "I miss it too." The admission was much easier when he knew that Inferno felt the same.. "That's part of the reason I was crying, I was remembering how good it was, and I was afraid we would never..."

Inferno kissed Red Alert's forehead. "I'm afraid, too, Red. There are days when I think I might get ta be okay, an' there are days when I think I never want ta do that again..."

"Whatever happens, I'm not going anywhere," Red Alert promised fiercely, speaking words that terrified him both with their truth, and the fearful possibility they represented. "Even if you never want to be physically intimate again... As long as you love me and want me close to you, I'll stay."

"_Primusdammit!_" Inferno cursed helplessly as a soft sob escaped him. "This ain't how our nights are supposed ta be, we're supposed ta be makin' sweet love right now, not talkin' about how we might never do that no more... Them Decepticons... All this time I've been thinkin' about what they took from me, but it ain't just me they took it from... What I lost, ya lost it, too..."

"Yes," Red Alert's voice broke as his own sobs escaped him, "_yes_."It was the acknowledgement that he hadn't even known he had needed, the one he had been waiting for; and it tore through him like shrapnel with its raw, painful truth so long suppressed. But amidst the agony, there was a tiny speck of relief as Inferno's pain, Inferno's loss, became not just his, but _theirs_, enabling them to grieve for the first time not just as individuals, but as partners. Together.


	40. Him

**Title:** Immolation (Part 40/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Him"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 823

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Punch/Counterpunch, Wheeljack, Smokescreen, Grapple, Sideswipe, Perceptor.

**Warnings:** Sticky.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****A trip to the rec room for some energon leaves Inferno with an uneasy feeling.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Him

"We can just get some energon and go back to our quarters," Red Alert offered solicitously as he and Inferno made their way towards the rec room.

"Naw," Inferno replied, shaking his head. "Ratchet said I could move around a bit more now since I'm healin' so well, an' I intend ta take advantage of it." His words were brave and bold, but the truth was that he had made very few forays outside their quarters despite Ratchet's relaxed restrictions. Part of the reason for this was because he was still afraid of how the others might feel about his attack, what they might say to him, no matter what it was. Just because he had begun talking a little more with Red about what had happened didn't mean he was in any shape to have that discussion with anyone else.

Still, he knew he couldn't hide forever, not if he eventually wanted to return to active duty, which he definitely did. The idea of being able to face the Decepticons on the battlefield to extract some paypback for what they had done was a powerful motivator, even if Ratchet and Red Alert both deemed it an unhealthy one.

Red Alert smiled up at him warmly, unaware of the dark threads winding through his thoughts. "You're being very brave," he said, "but remember you don't have to do everything all at once."

"I know, Red," Inferno said. "But sittin' a spell an' havin' some energon ain't gonna hurt me." Or so he kept reminding himself.

They walked into the rec room and made their way towards the energon dispenser, Inferno pouring a cube first for Red Alert and then for himself before they took a seat at one of the tables. They received a few waves, but everyone seemed too busy to approach them, and the fire engine found himself beginning to relax.

The off duty Autobots were occupied in a variety of ways, most were seated at various tables, chatting quietly amongst themselves, but over in the corner Smokescreen seemed to be having one of his beloved poker games.

"I see your ten and I raise you fifty," someone said. It was a voice Inferno didn't recognize, and yet it sent shivers down his backstrut, and made him pause with his energon halfway to his mouth.

He glanced towards the table. He could see Wheeljack, Smokescreen, Perceptor, Sideswipe and Grapple, of all mechs, but the sixth player, and owner of the voice, was hidden behind Grapple's considerable orange bulk.

"Inferno?" Red Alert's concerned query seemed to come from far away.

Something touched him and Inferno jerked sharply away, spilling energon over himself, only to realize that it had just been Red gently stroking his arm. "Sorry, Red," he murmured. "Ya startled me there. I'll just get somethin' ta clean this up."

"I can do that," Red Alert fussed.

"Naw, I made the mess, I'll do it." Inferno got up and wandered over to the storage cupboard where the cleaning supplies were kept, grabbing some cloths and some cleanser to wipe up the spill. Only after he'd arrived did he realize that this was the perfect vantage point to see the sixth player at the table, the one with the voice.

It was an orange and black Autobot he couldn't recall seeing before, a short, neat, and, some would even say dapper, little fellow who seemed to be amassing a large pile of winnings. He didn't realize he'd been staring until the mech in question lifted his cube towards him in a sort of salute before taking a drink and returning his attention to the game.

"Are you alright?" Red Alert was suddenly standing nearby.

"Red, can ya tell me who that mech is?" Inferno asked, still unable to tear his optics away from the unfamiliar Autobot.

"The orange and black one? That's Punch, he's one of Jazz's operatives, but I don't know much else about him, I'm afraid." The Lamborghini's tone betrayed no small amount of irritation at this fact, since Red Alert liked to be as informed as possible about everyone and everything.

"Punch..." The single syllable seemed harmless and unassuming, the mech himself seemed friendly enough, so why couldn't he seem to stop staring? Why did he feel so oddly apprehensive?

"Come on," Red Alert gently took the cleaning supplies from him and guided him back to the table.

"Uhh, Red, maybe I do want ta go back to our quarters after all," he said, once he had helped his lover wipe up the spill. For some reason he felt exposed and vulnerable, and very much wanted to be somewhere he felt safe. There was, of course, nowhere where he really felt that way anymore, but at least in their quarters he could almost remember what that feeling was like.


	41. Thanksgiving

**Title:** Immolation (Part 41/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Thanksgiving"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1204

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ensemble. Sparkplug, Spike, Carly, Daniel, Buster, human OCs

**Warnings:** Sticky.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****Red Alert expounds on the merits (or lack thereof) of Black Friday shopping around the Thanksgiving dinner table.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Bleah. I didn't mean to drop off like I did, but I got a three week long cold, followed by some horrific back spasms, and my muse just about croaked. But now I have revived her, so I will hopefully be able to start a semi-regular posting schedule once again.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Thanksgiving

"Carly, you are not going shopping tomorrow! I forbid it!" Red Alert fretted, wringing his hands as he stared at the human sized dining table perched like a centrepiece in the middle of the Autobot-sized tables, which had been pushed together to form a long banqueting table at which most of the Ark's population currently sat.

"Come on, Red," the lovely blonde human female wheedled, spooning some cranberry sauce up to go with her next bite of turkey. "The deaths were isolated incidents, and besides, they happened two years ago. They've had time to put better security measures in place to stop that from happening now – measures which you helped design, I might add."

Across the table, ten year old Daniel smirked at his father, amused to see roles seemingly reversed, his mother for once begging to do something that others were intent on forbidding.

"She's got you there, Red," Inferno replied, chuckling as he took a careful sip of his high grade, making sure to keep it well away from the small table and the humans who occupied it.

Neither the warmth he felt at the now too-rare sound of Inferno's once infectious laughter, nor the tiny flicker of pride at being contacted by department store giants to help draft their new security protocols for Black Friday shopping distracted the security director from his worry for the organic members of the extended Autobot 'family'. "Hundreds – if not thousands – of injuries happened before that, and continue to happen still. It's easy to dismiss them because there are so many they register as nothing but statistics, but behind every statistic is a horror story waiting to be told. Broken ribs, head injuries, lost teeth..."

"Please!" Buster Witwicky paused in the act of passing the sweet potatoes to his long-time partner Jamal. "We're trying to eat here, Red..."

Red Alert tried a different tactic. "If you want to save money, just let me know what you are interested in purchasing, and I will buy it for you myself..."

Spike chuckled. "Oh, we don't need that, Red – my ambassadorial salary means that we don't actually have to bargain hunt, but Carly likes the thrill of the chase, it's a sport to her, tracking down the best deals and getting the best values."

"I'll buy the items and sell them back to you at a deeper discount than any of the stores are selling them?" Red offered.

"Hey, is that offer open to us, too?" Jamal asked, teeth gleaming in a bright grin that stood out pleasantly in his dark features.

Buster elbowed him playfully.

Sparkplug chuckled. "Nice try, Red, but it's a competition thing. Having stuff handed to you just not the same as going out into the dog eat dog world of Black Friday shopping and coming back in triumph."

"Or on a stretcher," Ratchet muttered.

Red Alert sat up a little, grinning triumphantly. "See, Ratchet agrees with me!" He pointed towards the white and red mech who lifted his high grade in a salute and took a big drink.

"I'm a big girl, and I can look after myself!" Carly exclaimed, pouting playfully, but there was steely determination in her blue eyes.

"Uh oh," Sparkplug murmured. "I know that look, Red, you might as well give up now. Buster and Spike's mother used to get that same look, and I learned better than to try to talk her out of something when she looked like that."

Spike nodded towards his father. "I know what you mean."

"Can you at least take some body guards with you?" Red Alert asked. "Rewind and Eject are small enough to fit into human stores."

"I don't need body guards!"

"How about a taser, then?"

"No!"

"Pepper spray?"

"NO!"

"A big stick?"

Inferno began quietly snickering.

"You're no help!" he pouted towards the fire engine, but inside he was almost giddy with the fact that Inferno was laughing again.

"Really, Red, why do you hate Black Friday so much?" Carly asked.

"Yeah," Blaster chimed in. "I think it sounds like fun, I was half way thinkin' I might send in Rewind ta get me a few new cds. Normally I like downloadin', but tomorrow they're gonna be cheaper than downloads at Bull's Eye."

Red Alert cradled his head in his hands. "Not you, too!" he bemoaned. "You want to know what I think is wrong with Black Friday? Apart from the standing outside risking exposure in sub-zero temperatures for hours, only to get inside where getting beaten for your trouble,, and incurring expensive medical bills in exchange for the possibility of saving a few dollars? Honestly, I just don't see why you organics seem to like to start off what you all say is supposed to be a season of giving and generosity, peace and goodwill, by beating each other to a pulp with microwave ovens." He leaned his head against Inferno, before he went on. "Many people even eschew their own Thanksgiving celebrations with their families in favour of lining up early in front of stores. Now how is that right? Instead of being thankful, they're just focused on how to go about getting more for themselves."

"Red Alert has a point," Optimus rumbled from his end of the table. "In the midst of troubled times it is easy to focus on material things since there is less risk in possessions than there is in people. Possessions can be stolen, but they cannot leave of their own volition, whereas true, meaningful relationships with others require work."

"Hear hear, boss bot!" Jazz exclaimed.

"Yeah, and the relationships are what really matters," Sparkplug said, glancing across the human table to where Buster sat with Jamal and their adopted twins, Trina and Johnathan. "Just look at what a jerk I was for such a long time, not talking to you, Buster, just because you didn't turn out the way I thought you should. If it weren't for the 'bots here, just going around doing 'bot things, but all the while showing me that things didn't have to be this way, I would never have gotten to be a part of your life again, and I would have missed out on so much."

Optimus smiled benevolently at the diners. "I think we all have a lot to be thankful for."

Red Alert glanced up at Inferno, who met his optics and offered him a small smile. Things weren't perfect between them by any means, but Inferno hadn't shown any further signs of giving in to the suicidal tendencies he'd exhibited earlier in the year, which was a very encouragingly development, and one the Lamborghini thanked Primus for every single day.

There was still a long road ahead, but they would be walking it together, surrounded by people who cared about them.

"Yes we do," Red Alert said, and raised his cube in a toast, even as he slid his free arm around Inferno's waist, ignoring the looks of surprise from those who still hadn't quite wrapped their processors around his newer, more demonstrative self. "Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!"


	42. Sunset

**Title:** Immolation (Part 42/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Sunset"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 520

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Beachcomber. Ensemble.

**Warnings:** Sticky.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****The Autobots hold a small ceremony to mark the winter solstice, and Inferno reflects on his own journey through the darkness, towards the light.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

This was supposed to be Wednesday's part but I'm posting it early in honour of winter solstice. Next part on Friday, hopefully, provided Christmas things don't overwhelm me.

Beachcomber's little speech is inspired by and adapted from the article on the Long Nights Moon from .com/. The words were just so perfect for the situation that I had to use them, but all credit goes to the original writer.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Sunset

The sun had dropped down below the horizon, only a few faint streaks of crimson, like the light of a distant, dying fire, coloured the darkening sky. Little by little, even those few streaks of the sun's winter-dim warmth faded away, leaving nothing but the black canopy of the heavens, illuminated only faintly by the tiny pinpricks of the stars.

There was a quick hiss of a butane torch igniting, and then a solitary candle flickered to life, it's brilliance all the more welcome amidst the icy darkness of winter.

Holding the candle aloft, Beachcomber addressed the gathered Autobots, his mellow voice striking a perfect timbre between pleasant and solemn. "In winter, as the days get shorter, leading up to the longest night of the year, we force ourselves to get through the darkness, because eventually we know we will see the sunlight and warmth again."

Inferno looked around the barren landscape. Away from the harsh city lights in the distance, the thin dusting of snow did only little to alleviate the gloom. It made him think of his own personal darkness, which to him was almost as tangible as that which physically surrounded them, and yet somehow he was surviving.

"There are lots of things in life that we've had to get through in order to be where we are today," Beachcomber continued. "Sometimes, a part of us has to die in order to be reborn."

The fire engine glanced down at Red Alert, who was pressed against his side for warmth, feeling the other mech's arms reflexively tighten around him at the mention of death, knowing that his lover was thinking of his failed suicide attempt. The idea of any possibility of rebirth, of recovery, had been far, far from his processor then...

"We've walked through darkness, but the light is coming. Starting tomorrow the nights will begin to get shorter, this planet will slowly begin to orbit closer to the sun. Everything is a cycle, light and darkness, but we don't have to be dragged along kicking and screaming without any choice about what's going on. There is always a choice. And whether in darkness or in light, we're together. We have each other. And when times get dark there is one thing we can always count on: together, we can make our own light." Beachcomber extended his candle, and touched it to one that Jazz was holding, and Jazz did the same to Prowl, and Prowl to Optimus, and Optimus to Sunstreaker, who, though he looked bored and put-upon, did not hesitate to share his light with Sideswipe...

And so it went on.

Red Alert looked up at Inferno, offering his candle, offering to share his light and warmth, a symbolic expression of what he had been doing all along. "The sun is coming back, Inferno," he whispered, wistfully, hopefully.

Inferno allowed his candle to be lit, and then lit Bumblebee's before leaning down to kiss Red Alert's forehead. He didn't feel quite so confident, but he wanted Red to be right, wanted it so very much. "I know, Red."


	43. Christmas

**Title:** Immolation (Part 43/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Christmas"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 859

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Sideswipe, Cliffjumper, Huffer, mentions of Ratchet and Omega Supreme

**Warnings:** Sticky. Angst. Suggestions of funny Christmas filk.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary: ****The Autobots' Christmas party reminds Red Alert of how much things have changed, and how much he wishes they hadn't.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Primus, I am sorry this chapter took so long. I got busy during Christmas, my muse crashed and burned, and then Christmas was over and I couldn't get started writing a themed prompt for a theme that was expired.

But for some reason my muse has perked up again, so you have Christmas in July.

I would like to extend a big thank you to the crew over at **tf_socket_fics**. **femme4jack** and** gatekat**, your marvelous worldbuilding, your engaging plots, and unforgettable characterizations are single-handedly responsible for my muse's return to life. Sorry for being so behind with commenting, but I guarantee that any time I see you guys update it is one of the highlights of my day.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Christmas

"_Decepticons sneak up_

_Trying to infiltrate_

_Our base and wreck some slag_

_But it won't work that great_

_Someone is on guard_

_Working to save our afts_

_He's paranoid and gets annoyed_

_But he sure knows his craft!_

_Red Alert, Red Alert_

_Rocks security_

_He's got lots of cameras_

_Watching you and me_

_Red Alert, Red Alert_

_Rocks security_

_He's got lots of cameras_

_Watching you and m_e"

Sideswipe finished his paeanto Red Alert, sung to the tune of 'Jingle Bells' to laughter and applause from the audience of assembled Autobots.

All except one.

"Come on, Red," Inferno chuckled, elbowing his partner playfully. "That song was actually mighty nice – 'specially comin' from one of the Twins."

Red Alert held his glower a moment more, and then slowly uncrossed his arms. "I suppose so," he acknowledged. "I didn't realize the importance of my job actually registered with them – I think I'm about to experience a processor crash." A small smile stretched the corners of his lip components before he could stop it.

Inferno took a sip of his highgrade just as Huffer launched into an uncharacteristically optimistic serenade to Omega Supreme, – who was watching via video uplink – to the tune of 'O Come All Ye Faithful'. "I don't know how Jazz does it," the fire engine murmured. "Comin' up with all these party games year after year."

"I can't decide if it's better than the 'ugly Christmas sweater' party last year," Red said, dialling down his audios a bit as Huffer struggled for the higher notes. "I still don't know how he managed to get so many of those acrylic monstrosities to fit us."

"Aww Red, but ya looked cute wearin' happy little snowmen..." Inferno teased.

Red Alert scowled at the remembered humiliation, then softened as a more pleasant recollection took its place. "Yours was better," he admitted with a trace of fondness. For Inferno, Jazz had chosen a surprisingly appropriate sweater that depicted a fireplace hung with festive stockings.

The fire engine ducked his head, his earlier attempt at mirth fading to a wistful smile that quickly vanished.. "It did kinda suit me, didn't it?" He slumped down further into his seat.. "I was gonna show it off at the fire station Christmas party this year," he muttered guiltily. "First time I missed it in twenty-five years..."

"I know how important it was to you," Red Alert whispered back softly, reaching across the table to place his hand on Inferno's. "But you weren't feeling well that day, and you weren't sure how you would handle all the people."

"Yeah... never woulda forgiven myself if I'd panicked and broken somethin', or hurt someone." Inferno agreed, shuddering at the mere thought. "But I don't know if I can forgive myself anyway. Those kids, the way their little faces would light up every time they saw me. Primus, they didn't even want Santa Claus ta give 'em their presents, not when they had me around. It's breakin' my spark ta know I let 'em down..."

"You didn't let them down, Inferno," Red Alert said gently. "You know Hot Spot was happy to handle it for you."

"It ain't the same. It was my fire station, my people, I shoulda been there." His free hand clenched slowly into a fist. "Damn slaggin' Cons, takin' over everythin' that matters ta me. Is it ever gonna stop?"

"You know what Ratchet said," Red Alert hedged, noticing for the first time that Cliffjumper was staring at them sourly, probably disapproving of them for talking during the performance, even though they were trying to be quiet. "These things take time."

"I think I want ta get back to our quarters now," Inferno said.

Red Alert frowned. Once upon a time, Inferno would never have suggested leaving, because he loved these gatherings, especially when they had a humorous theme as tonight's did. Now he usually put an end to their socializing even before Red did, a fact which made the security director's spark ache. "We don't have to leave on my account," he said reassuringly. "I want you to be out having fun." Which he did, even if it meant being obliged to come along for more than a token appearance, because the fire engine had developed an aversion to being out on his own.

"Naw, Red, I'm tired," Inferno replied, voice a mixture of fatigue, regret, and anxiety that would once have been completely foreign to him.

"Alright then."

They made their way discreetly to the exit, and as they made their way to their quarters, Red Alert's audios were haunted by the merry refrains of "Ratchet's Wrench is Going to Get You" set to the tune of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." He never used to like going home alone, but now he found himself wishing he were, wishing that Inferno was back there in the rec room, laughing with the others, the way it used to be.


	44. Months

**Title:** Immolation (Part 44/100)  
**Prompt: ****"**Months**"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** R  
**Words:** 1891

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Mentions of Ratchet

**Warnings:** Sticky. Discussion of sex and intimacy, mentions of rape.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary:** Good news from Ratchet forces Inferno and Red Alert to have a deeper discussion about a topic they had been avoiding.  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

It looks like I got off to a bit of a false start earlier. Sorry about that. But I'm going to try to keep up with the periodic updates, and, if possible, make them more regular. I am determined to finish this thing, one way or another.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Months

Inferno stepped out of the examination room, unsettled from the highly invasive inspection of his intimate parts that Ratchet had conducted for what he hoped would be the last time The conversation they'd had afterwards hadn't been much better, in spite of the encouraging news he'd been given.

His optics immediately found the white and red figure of Red Alert, who quickly stood up, an anxious yet hopeful expression on his pale face plates. "Are you alright?" the Lamborghini asked. "I mean, Ratchet didn't need to call me in this time, so you must be doing a bit better?"

"I'm fine," Inferno lied, a distant part of himself aghast at how smoothly he did it, how accustomed he had become to uttering falsehoods instead of the truth he used to believe in before his rape. His rapes.

Before then the truth had sometimes hurt a little, but he'd been able to face it, now the truth was sickly burning agony, a rusting wound so deep and painful that he couldn't bear even to tend it. This was in spite of the fact that he was sure it was slowly killing him. The fire engine idly wondered if this perishing by slow neglect would be in defiance of Red Alert's ultimatum regarding suicide.

"What did Ratchet say?" Red Alert asked, his pinched expression making it clear that he was not in any way fooled by the shabby, oft used platitude, and Inferno asked himself why he continued to prevaricate around the one mech he couldn't easily fool.

"Can it wait until we get back to our quarters?" he asked, broad shoulders hunched. He supposed he would have to tell Red what Ratchet had said, in spite of the new and disturbing possibilities it raised, possibilities that he once would have rejoiced at, but now left his spark cold and cringing in his chest.

"Of course," Red Alert agreed, placing his hand on Inferno's arm in a comforting manner.

The fire engine stiffened slightly at the touch, which, in light of the topics he and Ratchet had discussed, was the last sensation he wanted to be feeling.

Ever solicitous, Red Alert immediate withdrew his hand, giving Inferno a look of sympathy underscored by a hurt he wasn't nearly as good at schooling away as he thought he was. "Oh. I see. Not now," he said quietly.

Inferno grunted without expression, while inside he seethed with guilt. He hated the times when he needed to tell Red that he wasn't feeling up to being touched. It was preferable to the way things had been, with Red Alert afraid to come near him for fear of upsetting him, but that didn't make enforcing the boundaries they had agreed upon any easier.

They made their way to their quarters in silence, Red automatically moving forward to enter the complex sequence of codes that secured his inner sanctum before stepping inside.

Once Inferno had entered, and the door was efficiently locked once again, Red Alert moved over to the berth and sat down on one side of it, waiting for Inferno to join him. Always prone to worrying, the security director was clearly impatient to hear the latest update on his lover's condition, eager as always to replace his currently not-so-nebulous fears with solid facts.

Inferno sat down on the other side of the berth, its expanse stretching out tauntingly between them like so many of the words both of them now left unspoken. "Ratchet says I'm healed."

"Healed?" The hope that crept into Red Alert's voice and optics made Inferno's spark twist.

"Yeah, everythin' down there is back ta the way it's supposed ta be, so he says we can interface whenever we want..."

"Whenever you feel ready," Red Alert amended, looking down at his hands, which were clasped entirely too tightly together in his lap.

"Yeah..." Inferno agreed, looking down as well, remembering something Ratchet had said to him in the examination room. "'This isn't you,'" the CMO had stated, as one of the reasons why he was not going to be reinstating Inferno for combat duty any time soon, and he was right.

He remembered all those times when he had been prohibited from interfacing while recovering from other, less intimate injuries, and how elated he was each time he was given the okay to resume his favourite berthroom activities with the mech he loved. All the passion they'd shared, all the creative ways they found together to express it, it seemed like those memories belonged to a difference person, and, in a sense, they did.

"I, umm, guess we could try now?" he offered, not really meaning it, but wanting to see how Red Alert would react.

The Lamborghini lifted his head again. "I want you," he whispered. "I never stopped wanting you, I never will stop wanting you, but it's obvious you aren't ready for me to prove that to you." The word 'yet' was telling in its absence. "As I said once before, I will wait as long as you need me to, even if that ends up being forever."

"Don't wanna make ya wait forever," Inferno mumbled, hands coming up over his faceplates as tears of cleaning fluid began to trickle slowly out of his optics. "I just... I think of where we were, what we used to be, an' I..."

"Stop." Red Alert's tone was gentle yet commanding. "What we are is in the here and now."

"Yeah, well, I don't much care for it," Inferno surprised himself by growling, swiping angrily at his optics. "What I want ta be doin' is throwin' ya down on this berth an' fraggin' ya senseless, but then there's the other part of me, that wants ta weld my panel shut forever..."

Red sighed. "What I'm trying to say is that agonizing over the way things used to be isn't helping, but what might help is finding ways of dealing with the way things are now." He moved around the berth so they were sitting a little closer together, although still not touching. "From what I'm hearing from you it sounds like you're frustrated because you want to be intimate with me again, but you know you aren't ready, and you also have no idea how you could ever get ready for something like that again. Am I close?"

"Yeah," Inferno agreed quietly. "That's about it right there." There were other things on his mind, of course, but his fear of intimacy after what had happened to him was currently at the top of his processor. "My body works fine, my spike even pressurizes now an' then, but when I think about usin' it, heck, when I think about even just touchin' it outside of washin' up, I just can't imagine how I ever could." He hazarded a fearful glance at Red, bracing himself for the disappointment he knew would be there on his faceplates, and it was, but there was also determination, and so much love it made his spark stagger.

"Inferno, do you remember how long it took before I was ready to be intimate with you?" Red Alert asked quietly.

"The wait was worth every astrosecond," Inferno replied staunchly, thinking of their courtship of nearly a vorn, starting from before the Ark launched, and picked up again once the Ark team had awoken here on Earth, where Red Alert had finally decided he was ready to go all the way.

Minus the time spent in stasis, it hadn't been an unusually long time to wait before proceeding to the next step in their relationship, at least for civilian life. In wartime, however, death could come at any moment, and it had been a source of guilt and torment for Red Alert that he was the one holding back their progress when they could so easily lose each other forever.

Red Alert hadn't experienced any sexual trauma, he'd simply been an untried virgin, though of course nothing was ever simple where the security director was concerned. His anxiety, and the difficulty he had in trusting others had made him seem nearly as reluctant and fearful as Inferno himself was now.

"You were so patient with me," Red recalled, fond affection in his voice. "We'd kiss for groons and then I'd send you back to your quarters, where you'd relieve your frustration alone. Then, when we took things further, you made sure I was always on top so I didn't feel trapped."

Inferno tilted his head in slight confusion, wondering why Red was bringing this up after admonishing him for talking about how good things were before. "Thought ya said worryin' 'bout the way things used ta be ain't helpin'?"

"I'm not worrying," Red Alert replied with just a touch of primness. "I'm remembering how we overcame obstacles to our interfacing life in the past."

"I guess that's different," Inferno mused. "So what yer sayin' is that maybe if we start again...?" The prospect was daunting, but Red Alert was right, there wasn't any way to immediately return things to the way they were – if such a thing were even possible at all - and he knew that it would be better if he found a way to accept that. Somehow.

"From the beginning," Red Alert confirmed.

Inferno sighed, realizing that this was going to be much harder than waiting for Red Alert had been. He'd loved Red, and hadn't wanted to hurt or frighten him, whereas now the only obstacle was himself, and lately he was much less fond of the face he saw in the mirror, to say nothing of the mech behind it. "Well, I ain't got no better ideas," he acknowledged dismally.

Red Alert moved a little closer, though they still weren't touching. "Back then, I wasn't sure we'd ever make much progress either, but you believed, Inferno, you believed that if you loved me and were patient, you could show me how wonderful interfacing was, how good we could be together." His vocalizer crackled with static for a moment. "You were right, and you taught me everything you knew, helped me to explore things that I once thought I would never have the courage to try with anyone, and now I believe, Inferno. I believe in what you taught me, I believe in you, I believe in us."

Inferno stared at Red Alert, at the tears that sparkled in the dim lights as they slowly trickled down his pale faceplates, at his expression of calm certainty, so unusual for him, and felt like he was seeing his lover for the first time. This time static invaded his own voice. "Red, I... I want... I want ta try..."

"May I kiss you?" Red asked, with just a hint of uncertainty.

Inferno nodded, and felt Red Alert's lip components gently brush his like a whispered question, and in reply he opened himself as much as he comfortably could, opened his mouth to allow the admittance of his lover's glossa, and his mind to the possibility that some day, perhaps, there could be more again.


	45. New Year

**Title:** Immolation (Part 45/100)  
**Prompt: ****"New Year"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 700

**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ensemble.

**Warnings:** Sticky. "Alcohol" use. Faint kissing dub-con: Red Alert always objects initially to PDA, but then he stops caring he's in public.

**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary:**** Inferno succumbs to the temptation of a little self-medicating at the 'Bot's New Year's party.**  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

Incidentally, I have discovered that the theme song for this piece is "Pale" by Within Temptation. Seriously, I was just listening to it and realized it was totally in synch with what Red Alert and Inferno go through in this story.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

New Year

"4... 3... 2... 1... Happy New Year!"

With an unfeigned predatory grin, Inferno grabbed Red Alert in his arms and kissed him until he stopped his surprised struggling and started kissing back with equal ferocity. He savoured the high performance rev of the sports car's engine, answering it with his own, deeper diesel rumbling, and tried not to think too hard about how much sooner his lover's inevitable capitulation came than last year, let alone the reason for it.

They came up for air just in time to see Brawn, dressed as Baby New Year, diaper and all, kneecap Sideswipe, who was dressed as the Old Year - complete with long robes, and a frightfully mangy bot-sized beard that probably should have been thrown out a long time ago - and drag him out of the room, thus concluding the pageant that Jazz had organized.

"An' good riddance!" Inferno muttered.

Red Alert peered up at him anxiously, protectively. "Did Sideswipe say something to you?" he asked, and Inferno felt both flattered, and guilty, to see that his lover was still venting to cool himself down from their unexpectedly passionate kiss.

"Naw." Inferno took a healthy swig of his cube of highgrade, watching as Sideswipe came back in to the party, minus his costume, and limping slightly, while Brawn continued to prance around in his, shaking his diaper-clad metal booty to the music Blaster had begun to play.

"Sideswipe ain't done nothin', but the year 2010 can go frag itself as far as I'm concerned." Seeing the worst year of his life symbolically tossed out on its aft was satisfying in ways he couldn't begin to comprehend. He would have liked to punch it in the diodes a few times for good measure, too, so it was lucky for the red twin that he wasn't more intoxicated or he might have been tempted to try it.

"I'm just glad that you're still here with me," his lover said quietly.

"An' I'm glad ta have ya standin' by my side," Inferno answered, wrapping an arm around the red and white shoulders and giving them an affectionate squeeze. Truth be told, he didn't feel all that bad tonight, though perhaps that was due to the highgrade; it was the most he had drunk since their capture.

He drained the rest of his cube in one swallow, savouring the flare of energy that coursed through his frame and systems, making him feel more alive than he'd felt in months. "I'll just go get myself another one of these."

Red Alert took a small sip of his second cube. "Alright," he agreed, without much conviction.

"Aww, Red' what's the matter?" Inferno asked amiably. "I thought ya said ya wanted me ta be out an' about havin' fun more, an' I'm doin' that right now."

"I do, I just..." The security director still didn't sound all that enthusiastic.

"Ya know what yer problem is? Ya ain't drinkin' enough!" the fire engine teased. In truth he was a bit ambiguous about his own drinking, though he wasn't quite sure why, because he felt really good, and he hadn't consumed nearly the amount he'd had at last year's party. Of course since he hadn't been drinking much these past few months his tolerance was also a lot lower.

"Maybe you should give me a little time to catch up?" Red Alert finally managed to laugh, albeit faintly. His tone was playful, but Inferno thought he could detect a hint of worry beneath.

Inferno frowned. "Why? I ain't had that much. Just look at Sunny and Sides!" He wasn't sure where they'd found the bot-sized lampshade, but it had shown up at a party sometime in the early 1990s, and had been making appearances ever since.

Despite the excuse, he knew highgrade wasn't really going to help him, but right now, in the moment, surrounded by uninhibited revellers, with the room shining with tinsel decorations and reams of coloured lights that seemed to spin around him, it was easy, too easy, for him to believe that it would never let him down.


	46. Drink

**Title:** Immolation (Part 46/100)  
**Prompt: ****"Drink"**  
**Verse:** G1 (AU)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Words:** 1306  
**Pairings: **Inferno/Red Alert  
**Other Characters:** Ironhide. Ensemble.  
**Warnings:** Sticky. "Alcohol" use. Drunk!drama.  
**Disclaimer:** Do not own Transformers, or any of the official characters, do not get paid for doing this except with reviews.  
**Summary:** Intoxication causes a misunderstanding between Inferno and Red Alert.  
**Notes:** A continuation of my series of vignettes on the theme of Inferno being raped, and how he and Red Alert deal with it, centred around prompts from **slash_100**.

A big thank you to **_wilderness_** for giving me some feedback on this part when I was uncertain if it was going in the right direction.

Groon – 1 hour.

Astrosecond - ≈.273 seconds

Orbital cycle: 1 day

Solar cycle: 1 year

Drink

Red Alert was still on his second cube of the evening by the time Inferno finished his fourth, but, in spite of his apprehensions about his lover imbibing so much after so long, especially in light of his ordeal, the fire engine seemed fine. More than fine, actually, if the merry conversation surrounding them was any indication.

It was good to see Inferno so animated, to hear his big, hearty laugh, to imagine that his optics were not over bright merely from the highgrade, but because he was happy, truly happy, as he had once been. As they had once been.

The Lamborghini leaned his head against Inferno's arm in an unconscious gesture of affection and found himself pulled into an embrace, and from there onto the fire engine's lap, his aft flush against a panel that felt several degrees warmer than the rest of the large mech. He squawked in apprehension, but all he really wanted to do, after so many months of self-servicing, was squirm in appreciation of the tantalizing sensation, and damn all watchers to the Pit.

Unfortunately the amorous gesture did not have the same meaning it once did. Before the awful summer of 2010, such actions by Inferno meant he was in a playfully aroused mood, and that their evening was likely to end in a round of delicious lovemaking that both would be happy with even in the clear light of sobriety – minus the hangover, of course. Now it only meant that Inferno was far, far too drunk to know what he wanted or needed.

Red Alert was the only one that seemed to realize this, however, because the mechs at their table greeted the open affection with a small round of applause. Inferno seemed to bask in it, smiling down at Red and pressing a kiss to the top of his helmet.

"Inferno..." Red whispered, trying to get his lover's attention, but Inferno had started speaking.

"I got a bit o' good news from Ratchet this week," Inferno declared proudly. "Seems like I got me a clean bill o' health."

There was more applause and then Red Alert did squirm, uneasily, but Inferno only took it as encouragement, and pulled the smaller mech more tightly against him as he began speaking again. "In spite o' that, our chief medical officer said he ain't gonna certify me for combat yet, 'cause he's a SPOILSPORT!" The fire engine was grinning broadly as he yelled the last word in Ratchet's direction in a way that seemed outwardly playful, but held a desperate, frustrated edge.

Now a chorus of boos came from around the table, as well as the other table nearby, more mechs hearing the 'good news' and paying attention to what was going on.

Red Alert caught Ironhide's optics across the table and saw that the older mech was a lot less far gone than he seemed. The knowledge that someone else realized the gravity of the situation gave the security director more courage to act. "Inferno, maybe we should go home?" he murmured.

"Alright, Red," Inferno agreed indulgently, before turning to the audience. "It seems my darlin' Red here, wants ta go home..." He leered playfully down at Red.

_Please let him stop there,_ Red Alert prayed, to any deity that would listen, but the answer seemed to come straight from the Unmaker himself.

Inferno got unsteadily to his feet, holding Red up like a trophy."So I'm gonna take this here sweet thang home, an' show him that it takes more than a few Decepticons ta keep Inferno down for long!"

If Red Alert hadn't been sure before that Inferno was too intoxicated to know what he was doing, then his previous words removed all doubt. Here the fire engine was, boasting about their private life, and acting like he'd just been recuperating from battle wounds instead of being brutally violated. He was sure this was the way Inferno wanted their situation to be, but saying such things didn't make them real.

Meanwhile, the entire rec room seemed to be full of mechs as deluded as Inferno was, because a boisterous cheer erupted from the watchers, though a few mechs like Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz, and even Ratchet - who was severely intoxicated in his own right - looked almost as uneasy as Red felt.

Reflexively, he covered his optics, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow him, then he realized what it would look like to Inferno and dropped his hands, though as fate would have it, the big mech's wandering, bleary gaze managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. "Aww, look, he's shy!"

"I'm _not_ being shy!" Red Alert spoke a little louder, trying to get through the fumes of highgrade clouding his lover's processor. "Could you please just put me down?"

"Put ya down? Red, why - ?" Inferno stared down at him for long moments before a hard look came into his optics. "Yer embarrassed, ain't ya?"

"No, I'm not, I just - "

"Yeah y'are, yer embarrassed ta be seen with me!" Inferno put Red down so fast he almost dropped him, taking a step back as he glared down at the smaller mech. "I can't be believin' this. _You_ are embarrassed ta be seen with me, after all I've done fer you! Comfortin' ya when ya were scared, listenin' ta yer ramblin's when ya were havin' an attack, givin' up my fraggin' MECHHOOD ta save ya from a fate worse than death, an' let me tell ya it _is_ worse than death!"

Ironhide moved closer to Inferno, doubtless trying to diffuse the situation by placing a hand on his elbow. "Now see here, 'Ferno - " he began, but was cut off.

"Mind yer own business Ironhide!" Inferno snapped, shrugging the older mech off before rounding on Red Alert again, finger pointing accusingly.

"Inferno," Red Alert tried to find words, to struggle through his own shock, fear, and anguish and somehow make things right again. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never wanted that to happen to you... I honestly, I'm proud... to..."

"'Proud'?" Inferno echoed. "Is this what ya call bein' proud, rejectin' me in front of everyone? Yeah, yer proud alright, proud of how beautiful ya are, ya keep sayin' it ain't true, but we both know that ya could have any mech ya want in this army, an' I think maybe that's what ya really want – ta trade up from yer damaged goods!"

"Inferno..." Tears coursed down Red Alert's cheeks unbidden as he stood frozen to the spot, unable to articulate, and unable to flee, caught the fire engine's basilisk stare of anger... no, hatred, as surely as his prison cell aboard the Nemesis had held him, preventing him from rushing to his lover's rescue, no matter the cost.

"Well, ya know what?" he told the now silent watchers. "Y'all can have 'im! Maybe ya can all take turns with 'im like them 'Cons did with me, 'cept he'll like it! Guess I shoulda jus' let 'em have 'im, 'cause the slaggin' _glitch_ obviously ain't worth it!"

That word. Of all the words Inferno could have used, it had to be _that_ word.

He stared for a few moments in disbelief, and then did an about face, and walked slowly from the room.

There was stunned silence for a few moments, and then a bellow of anguish as Inferno realized just what he'd said, what he'd done.

His heightened senses allowed him to clearly hear the fire engine's cries of apology and regret long after he left the immediate area of the rec room.

Red Alert kept on walking.


End file.
